A  CRY  IN  THE 
WILDERNESS 


MARY    E.  WALLER 


A   CRY   IN   THE   WILDERNESS 


UNIV.  OF  CALIF.  LIBRARY.  LOS  ANGKLK* 


BOOKS    BY 

MARY   E.  WALLER 


THE  WOOD-CARVER  OF  '  LYMPUS 

A  DAUGHTER  or  THE  RICH 

THE  LITTLE  CITIZEN 

SANNA  OF  THE  ISLAND  TOWN 

A  YEAR  OUT  OF  LIFE 

FLAMSTED  QUARRIES 

A  CRY  IN  THE  WILDERNESS 

MY  RAGPICKER 

THROUGH   THE   GATES  OF  THE 

NETHERLANDS 
OUR  BENNY 


"What    a    wilderness    was  this   Seigniory   of    Lamoral ! 
and    vet — I   liked   it."  FRONTISPIECE.      Sec  Fogeys. 


A   CRY    IN 
THE  WILDERNESS 


BY 

MARY  E.  WALLER 

Author  of  "The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus,"  "Flamsted 
Quarries,"  "  A  Year  Out  of  Life,"  etc. 


WITH  FRONTISPIECE  IN   COLOR  BY 

ARTHUR  I.   KELLER 


BOSTON 

LITTLE,  BROWN,  AND  COMPANY 
1912 


Copyright,  1912, 
BY  MARY  E.  WALLER. 

All  rights  reserved 


Published,  October,  1912 


THE  COLONIAL  PRESS 
C.  H.  SIMONDS  &  CO.,  BOSTON,  U.  S,  A. 


CONTENTS 

BOOK  ONE 

PACK 

THE  JUGGERNAUT i 

BOOK  TWO 
THE  SEIGNIORY  OF  LAMORAL 61 

BOOK  THREE 
FINDING  THE  TRAIL 393 


213336O 


BOOK  ONE 
THE  JUGGERNAUT 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 


Juggernaut!  " 

That 's  exactly  what  I  said,  and  said  aloud 
too. 

I  was  leaning  from  the  window  in  my  attic  room  in 
the  old  district  of  New  York  known  as  "  Chelsea  "; 
both  hands  were  stemmed  on  the  ledge. 

"  You  Juggernaut  of  a  city!  "  I  said  again,  and 
found  considerable  satisfaction  in  repeating  that 
word.  I  leaned  out  still  farther  into  the  sickening 
September  heat  and  defiantly  shook  my  fist,  as  it 
were  into  the  face  of  the  monster  commercial  me 
tropolis  of  the  New  World. 

I  felt  the  blood  rush  into  my  cheeks  —  thin  and 
white  enough,  so  my  glass  told  me.  Then  I  straight 
ened  myself,  drew  back  and  into  the  room.  The 
quick  sharp  clang  of  the  ambulance  gong,  the  clatter 
of  running  hoofs  sounded  below  me  in  the  street. 

"  And  they  keep  going  under  —  so,"  I  said  beneath 
my  breath;  and  added,  but  between  my  teeth: 

"But  /  won't  — I  won'tl" 

Turning  from  the  window,  I  took  my  seat  at  the 
table  on  which  was  a  pile  of  newspapers  I  kept  for 
reference,  and  searched  through  them  until  I  found 


4  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

an  advertisement  I  remembered  to  have  seen  a  week 
before.  I  had  marked  it  with  a  blue  pencil.  I  cut 
it  out.  Then  I  put  on  my  hat  and  went  down  into 
the  city  that  lay  swooning  in  the  intense,  sultry  heat 
of  mid-September. 

The  sun,  dimmed  and  blood  red  in  vapor,  was 
setting  behind  the  Jersey  shore.  The  heated  air 
quivered  above  the  housetops.  Wherever  there  was 
a  stretch  of  asphalt  pavement,  innumerable  hoof- 
dents  witnessed  to  the  power  of  the  sun's  rays.  The 
shrivelled  foliage  in  the  parks  was  gray  with  dust. 

I  knew  well  enough  that  on  the  upper  avenues  for 
blocks  and  blocks  the  houses  were  tightly  boarded  as 
if  hermetically  sealed  to  light  and  air;  but  I  was  going 
southward,  and  below  and  seaward  every  door  and 
window  yawned  wide.  To  the  rivers,  to  the  Battery, 
to  the  Bridge,  the  piers,  and  the  parks,  the  sluggish, 
vitiated  life  of  the  city's  tenement  districts  was 
crawling  listless.  The  tide  was  out;  and  I  knew  that 
beneath  the  piers  —  who  should  know  better  than  I 
who  for  six  years  had  taken  half  of  my  recreation  on 
them?  —  the  fetid  air  lay  heavy  on  the  scum  gath 
ered  about  the  slime-covered  piles. 

The  advertisement  was  a  Canadian  "  want ",  and 
in  reading  it  an  overpowering  longing  came  upon  me 
to  see  something  of  the  spaciousness  of  that  other 
country,  to  breathe  its  air  that  blows  over  the  north 
ern  snow-fields.  I  had  acted  on  an  impulse  in  de 
ciding  to  answer  it,  but  that  impulse  was  only  the 
precipitation  of  long-unuttered  and  unfilled  desires. 
I  was  realizing  this  as  I  made  my  way  eastward  into 
one  of  the  former  Trinity  tenement  districts. 

I  found  the  flag-paved  court  upon  which  the  shad 
ows  were  already  falling.  It  was  not  an  easily  dis- 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  5 

coverable  spot,  and  I  was  a  little  in  doubt  as  to  enter 
ing  and  inquiring  further;  I  didn't  like  its  look. 
I  took  out  the  advertisement;  yes,  this  was  the  place: 
"No.  8  V-  -  Court." 

"  Don't  back  down  now,"  I  said  to  myself  by  way 
of  encouragement  and,  entering,  rang  the  bell  of  an 
old-fashioned  house  with  low  stoop  and  faded  green 
blinds  close  shut  in  sharp  contrast  to  the  gaping  ones 
adjoining.  The  openly  neglected  aspect  of  its  neigh 
bors  was  wanting,  as  was,  in  fact,  any  indication  of 
its  character.  Ordinarily  I  would  have  shunned 
such  a  locality. 

The  door  was  opened  by  a  woman  apparently  fifty. 
Her  strong  deeply-lined  face  I  trusted  at  once. 

"  What  do  you  want?  "  The  voice  was  business 
like,  neither  repellent  nor  inviting. 

"  I  Ve  come  in  answer  to  this,"  I  said,  holding  out 
the  clipping.  The  woman  took  it. 

"  You  come  in  a  minute,  till  I  get  my  glasses." 

She  led  the  way  through  a  long,  unlighted  hall  into 
a  back  room  where  the  windows  were  open. 

"  You  set  right  down  there,"  she  said,  pushing  me 
gently  into  a  rocking-chair  and  pressing  a  palm-leaf 
fan  into  my  hand,  "  for  you  look  'bout  ready  to  drop." 

She  spoke  the  truth;  I  was.  The  sickening  breath- 
lessness  of  the  air,  nine  hours  of  indoor  work,  and 
little  eaten  all  day  for  lack  of  appetite,  suddenly  took 
what  strength  I  had  when  I  started  out. 

As  the  woman  stood  by  the  window  reading  the 
slip  in  the  fading  light,  my  eyes  never  left  her  face. 
It  seemed  to  me  —  and  strangely,  too,  for  I  have 
always  felt  my  independence  of  others'  personal  help 
-  that  my  life  itself  was  about  to  depend  on  her 
answer. 


6  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

"  Yes,  this  is  the  place  to  apply;  but  now  the  first 
thing  I  want  to  know  is  how  you  come  to  think  you  'd 
fit  this  place?  You  don't  look  strong." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  am;  "  I  spoke  hurriedly,  as  if  a  heavy 
pressure  that  was  gradually  making  itself  felt  on  my 
chest  were  forcing  out  the  words;  "  but  I  have  n't 
been  out  of  the  hospital  very  long  —  " 

"What  hospital?" 

"  St.  Luke's." 

"  What  was  the  matter  with  you?  " 

"  Typhoid  pneumonia  with  pleurisy." 

"  How  long  was  you  there?  " 

"  Ten  weeks,  to  the  first  of  July;  I've  been  at  work 
since  —  but  I  want  to  get  away  from  here  where  I 
can  breathe;  if  I  don't  I  shall  die." 

There  was  a  queer  flutter  in  my  voice.  I  could  hear 
it.  The  woman  noticed  it. 

"  Ain't  you  well?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  am,  and  want  work  —  but  away  from 
here." 

There  must  have  been  some  passionate  energy  left 
in  my  voice  at  least,  for  the  woman  lifted  her  thick 
eyebrows  over  the  rim  of  her  spectacles. 

"  H'm  —  let 's  talk  things  over."  She  drew  up  a 
chair  in  front  of  me.  "  I  won't  light  up  yet,  it 's  so 
hot.  I  guess  we  '11  get  a  tempest  'fore  long." 

She  sat  down,  placing  her  hands  on  her  knees  and 
leaning  forward  to  look  more  closely  at  my  face. 
I  seemed  to  see  her  through  a  fog,  and  passed  my 
hand  across  my  eyes  to  wipe  it  away. 

"  There  's  no  use  beating  'round  the  bush  when  it 
comes  to  business,"  she  said  bluntly  but  kindly; 
"  I  've  got  to  ask  you  some  pretty  plain  questions; 
the  parties  in  this  case  are  awful  particular." 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  7 

"  Yes."  I  answered  with  effort.  The  fog  was 
still  before  my  eyes. 

"  You  see  what  it  says."  She  began  to  read  the 
advertisement  slowly:  "  'Wanted:  A  young  girl  of 
good  parentage,  strong,  and  country  raised,  for  com 
panion  and  assistant  to  an  elderly  Scotchwoman  on 
a  farm  in  Canada,  Province  of  Quebec.  Must  have 
had  a  common  school  education.  Apply  at  No.  8 
V—  —  Court,  New  York  City.'  You  say  you  Ve  been 
in  St.  Luke's?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Did  you  know  the  one  they  call  Doctor  Rugvie 
there?  He  's  the  great  surgeon." 

"  No,  I  don't  know  him;  but  I  've  heard  so  much 
of  him.  He  was  pointed  out  to  me  once  when  I  was 
getting  better." 

"  Well,  by  good  rights  you  ought  to  be  applying 
for  this  place  to  him." 

"  To  him?  "  I  asked  in  surprise.  I  could  n't  make 
this  fact  rhyme  in  connection  with  this  woman  and 
Canada. 

"Yes,  to  him;  I'm  only  a  go-between  he  trusts. 
He  's  in  Europe  now  and  is  n't  coming  home  till  late 
this  year,  so  he  left  this  with  me,"  she  indicated  the 
advertisement,  "  and  told  me  not  to  put  it  in  till  a 
week  ago.  I  ain't  had  many  applications.  Folks 
in  this  city  don't  take  to  going  off  to  a  farm  in  Can 
ada,  and  those  I  've  had  would  n't  have  suited.  But, 
anyway,  Doctor  Rugvie  is  reference  for  this  place 
that 's  advertised,  and  I  guess  he  's  good  enough  for 
anybody.  I  thought  I  'd  tell  you  this  to  relieve  your 
mind.  'T  ain't  every  girl  would  come  down  here  to 
this  hole  looking  for  a  place.  —  Where  was  you  born?  " 

"  Here  in  New  York,  but  I  have  lived  most  of  my 


8  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

life  in  the  country,  northern  New  England,  just  this 
side  of  the  Canada  line.  I  Ve  been  here  seven  years. 
five  in  the  Public  Library;  that's  my  reference." 

"  How  old  are  you?  " 

"Twenty-six  next  December  —  the  third." 

"  I  would  n't  have  thought  it.     Mother  living?  " 

"  No;    she  died  when  I  was  born." 

"  Any  father?  " 

"I  —  I  don't  know  whether  my  father  is  living  or 
not." 

I  began  to  wish  I  had  n't  come  here  to  be  ques 
tioned  like  this;  yet  I  knew  the  woman  was  asking 
only  what  was  necessary  in  the  circumstances.  I 
feared  my  answers  would  seal  my  fate  as  an  appli 
cant. 

"  What  was  your  father's  name?  " 

"  I  don't  know."  Again  I  caught  the  sound  of  that 
strange  flutter  in  my  voice.  "  I  never  knew  my 
father." 

"  Humph!  Then  your  mother  wasn't  married,  I 
take  it." 

The  statement  would  have  sounded  heartless  to 
me  except  that  the  woman's  voice  was  wholly  busi 
nesslike,  just  as  if  she  had  asked  that  question  a 
hundred  times  already  of  other  girls. 

"  Oh,  yes  —  yes,  she  was." 

"  Before  you  was  born?  " 

"Yes." 

"  What  was  her  husband's  name  then?  " 

"  Jackson." 

"  Christian  name?  " 

"  George." 

"  Jackson  —  Jackson  —  George  Jackson."  The 
woman  repeated  the  name,  dwelling  upon  it  as  if  some 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  9 

memory  were  stirred  in  the  repetition.  "  And  you 
say  you  don't  know  who  your  father  was?  " 

"  No  -  ".  I  could  n't  help  it  —  that  word  broke 
in  a  half  hysterical  sob.  I  kept  saying  to  myself: 
"  Oh,  why  did  I  come  —  why  did  I  come?  " 

"  Now,  look  here,  my  dear,"  and  it  seemed  as  if  a 
flood  of  tenderness  drowned  all  those  business  tones 
in  her  voice,  "  you  stop  right  where  you  are.  There 
ain't  no  use  my  putting  you  into  torment  this  way, 
place  or  no  place — Doctor  Rugvie  wouldn't  like  it; 
't  ain't  human.  If  you  can  tell  me  all  you  know,  and 
want  to,  just  you  take  your  own  time,"  —  she  laid  a 
hand  on  my  shoulder,  —  "  and  if  you  don't,  just  set 
here  a  while  till  the  tempest  that 's  coming  up  is  over, 
and  I  '11  see  you  safe  home  afterwards.  You  ain't 
fit  to  be  out  alone  if  you  are  twenty-six.  You  don't 
look  a  day  over  twenty.  There  's  nothing  to  you." 

She  leaned  nearer,  her  elbows  on  her  knees,  her 
chin  resting  in  her  palms.  I  tried  to  see  her  face,  but 
the  fog  before  my  eyes  was  growing  thicker,  the  room 
closer;  her  voice  sounded  far  away. 

"  See  here  —  will  it  make  it  any  easier  if  I  tell  you 
I  've  got  a  girl  consider'ble  older  than  you  as  has  never 
known  her  father's  name  either?  And  that  there 
ain't  no  girl  in  New  York  as  has  a  lovinger  mother, 
nor  a  woman  as  has  a  lovinger  daughter  for  all 
that?  " 

I  could  not  answer. 

A  flash  of  red  lightning  filled  the  darkening  room. 
It  was  followed  by  a  crash  of  thunder,  a  rush  of  wind 
and  a  downpour  as  from  a  cloud-burst.  I  saw  the 
woman  rise  and  shut  both  windows;  then  for  me 
there  was  a  blank  for  two  or  three  minutes. 

She  told  me  afterwards  that  when  she  turned  from 


io  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

the  window,  where  she  stood  watching  the  rain  fall 
ing  in  sheets,  she  .saw  me  lying  prone  beside  her  chair. 
I  know  that  I  heard  her  talking,  but  I  could  not 
speak  to  tell  her  I  could. 

"  My  gracious!  "  she  ejaculated  as  she  bent  over 
me,  "  if  this  don't  beat  all!  Jane,"  she  called,  but  it 
sounded  far  away,  "  come  here  quick.  Here,  help 
me  lift  this  girl  on  to  the  cot.  Bring  me  that  camphor 
bottle  from  the  shelf;  I  '11  loosen  her  clothes.  - 
Rub  her  hands.  —  She  fell  without  my  hearing  her, 
there  was  such  an  awful  crash.  —  Light  the  lamp 
too.  .  . 

"There  now,  she's  beginning  to  come  to;  guess 
't  was  nothing  but  the  heat  after  all,  or  mebbe  she  's 
faint  to  her  stomach;  you  never  can  tell  when  this 
kind  's  had  any  food.  Just  run  down  and  make  a  cup 
of  cocoa,  but  light  the  lamp  first  —  I  want  to  see 
what  she  's  like." 

I  heard  all  this  as  through  a  thick  blanket  wrapped 
about  my  head,  but  I  could  n't  open  my  eyes  or  speak. 
The  woman's  voice  came  at  first  from  a  great  dis 
tance;  gradually  it  grew  louder,  clearer. 

"  Now  we  '11  see,"  she  said. 

She  must  have  let  the  lamplight  fall  full  on  my 
face,  for  through  my  closed  and  weighted  lids  I  saw 
red  and  yellow.  I  felt  her  bend  over  me;  her  breath 
was  on  my  cheek.  Still  I  could  not  speak. 

"  She  's  the  living  image,"  I  heard  her  say  quite 
distinctly;  "  I  guess  I  've  had  one  turn  I  shan't  get 
over  in  a  hurry." 

I  found  myself  wondering  what  she  meant  and 
trying  to  lift  my  eyelids.  She  took  my  hand;  I  knew 
she  must  be  looking  at  the  nails. 

"  She  's  coming  round  all  right  —  the  blood  's  turn- 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  n 

ing  in  her  nails."  She  took  both  my  hands  to  rub 
them. 

I  opened  my  eyes  then,  and  heard  her  say:  "  Eyes 
different." 

Then  she  lifted  my  head  on  her  arm  and  fed  me 
the  cocoa  spoonful  by  spoonful. 

"  Thank  you,  I  'm  better  now,"  I  said;  rny  voice 
sounded  natural  to  myself,  and  I  made  an  effort  to 
sit  up.  "  I  'm  so  sorry  I  've  made  you  all  this 
trouble  —  " 

"  Don't  talk  about  trouble,  child;  you  lay  back 
against  those  pillows  and  rest  you.  I  '11  be  back  in  a 
little  while."  She  left  the  room. 


II 


WHEN  she  returned,  shortly  after,  I  had  re 
gained  my  strength.     She  found  me  with 
my  hat  on  and  sitting  in  the  rocking-chair. 
The  woman  drew  up  her  own,  and  began  in  a  matter- 
of-fact  voice: 

"  Now  we  '11  proceed  to  business.  I  've  been  think 
ing  like  chain  lightning  ever  since  that  clap  of  thun 
der,  and  I  can  tell  you  the  storm  's  cleared  up  more  'n 
the  air.  I  ain't  the  kind  to  dodge  round  much  when 
there  's  business  on  hand.  Straight  to  the  point  is 
the  best  every  time;  so  I  may  as  well  tell  you  that 
this  place,"  —  she  held  out  the  advertisement,  - 
"  is  made  for  you  and  you  for  the  place,  even  if  you 
ain't  quite  so  strong  as  you  might  be." 

I  felt  the  tension  in  my  face  lessen.  I  was  about  to 
speak,  but  the  woman  put  out  her  hand,  saying: 

"  Now,  don't  say  a  word  —  not  yet;  let  me  do  the 
talking;  you  can  have  your  say  afterwards,  and  I  '11 
be  only  too  glad  to  hear  it.  But  it 's  laid  on  me  like 
the  Lord's  hand  itself  to  tell  you  what  I  'm  going  to. 
It  '11  take  long  in  the  telling,  but  if  you  go  out  to  this 
place,  you  ought  to  know  something  why  there  is  such 
a  place  to  go  to,  and  to  explain  that,  I  've  got  to  begin 
to  tell  you  what  I  'm  going  to.  You  're  different  from 
the  others,  and  it 's  your  due  to  know.  I  should  judge 
life  had  n't  been  all  roses  for  you  so  far,  and  if  you 
should  have  a  few  later  on,  there  '11  be  plenty  of 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  13 

thorns  —  there  always  is.  So  just  you  stand  what  I  'm 
going  to  tell  you.  This  was  n't  in  the  bargain  when  I 
told  Doctor  Rugvie  I  'd  see  all  the  applicants  and  try 
to  get  the  right  one,  —  but  I  can  make  it  all  right 
with  him.  It 's  a  longer  story  than  I  wish  't  was,  but 
I  've  got  to  begin  at  the  beginning. 

"  And  begin  with  myself,  too,  for  I  was  country 
raised.  Father  and  mother  both  died  when  I  was 
young,  and  I  brought  myself  up,  you  might  say.  I 
come  down  here  when  I  was  nineteen  years  old,  and 
it  wasn't  more  'n  a  year  'fore  I  found  myself  numbered 
with  the  outcasts  on  this  earth  —  all  my  own  fault 
too.  I  've  always  shouldered  the  blame,  for  a  woman 
as  has  common  sense  knows  better,  say  what  you  've 
a  mind  to;  but  the  knowledge  of  that  only  makes 
green  apples  sourer,  I  can  tell  you. 

"  I  mind  the  night  in  December,  thirty  years  ago, 
when  I  found  myself  in  the  street,  too  proud  to  beg, 
too  good  to  steal.  There  was  n't  nothing  left  —  noth 
ing  but  the  river ;  there  's  always  enough  of  that  and 
to  spare.  So  I  took  a  bee  line  for  one  of  the  piers, 
and  crouched  down  by  a  mooring-post.  I  'd  made  up 
my  mind  to  end  it  all ;  it  did  n't  cost  me  much  neither. 
I  only  remember  growing  dizzy  looking  down  at  the 
foam  whirling  and  heaving  under  me,  and  kinder 
letting  go  a  rope  I  'd  somehow  got  hold  of  ... 

"  The  next  thing  I  knew  I  was  hearing  a  woman 
say: 

"  '  You  leave  her  to  me;  she  '11  be  as  quiet  as  a 
lamb  now.'  She  put  her  arms  around  me.  '  You  poor 
child,'  she  said,  '  you  come  along  with  me.'  And  I 
went. 

"  Well,  that  woman  mothered  me.  She  took  in 
washing  and  ironing  in  two  rooms  on  Tenth  Avenue. 


T4  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

She  never  left  me  night  or  day  for  a  week  running 
till  my  baby  come.  .And  all  she  'd  say  to  me,  when 
I  got  sort  of  wild  and  out  of  my  head,  was: 

"  '  You  ain't  going  to  be  the  grave  of  your  child, 
be  you?  '  And  that  always  brought  me  to  myself. 
I  was  so  afraid  of  murdering  the  child  that  was  com 
ing.  That 's  what  she  kept  saying: 

"  '  You  ain't  going  to  be  so  mean  as  not  to  give 
that  innercent  baby  a  chance  to  live!  Just  you  wait 
till  it  comes  and  you  '11  see  what  life  's  for.  'T  ain't  so 
bad  as  you  think,  and  some  folks  make  out;  and  that 
child  has  a  right  to  this  world.  You  give  it  the  right, 
and  then  die  if  you  think  it 's  best.'  So  she  kept  at 
me  till  my  baby  come,  and  then  —  why,  I  got  just 
fierce  to  live  for  its  sweet  little  sake. 

"  'Bout  six  months  after  that  I  got  religion  - 
never  mind  how  I  got  it;  I  got  it,  that 's  the  point, 
and  I  've  held  on  to  it  ever  since.  And  when  I  'd  got 
it,  the  first  thing  I  did  was  to  take  my  baby  in  my 
arms  and  go  down  to  that  pier,  clear  out  to  the  moor- 
ing-post,  and  kneel  right  down  there  in  the  dark  and 
vow  a  vow  to  the  living  God  that  I  'd  give  my  life  to 
saving  of  them  of  His  poor  children  who  'd  missed  their 
footing,  and  trying  to  help  'em  on  to  their  feet  again. 

"  And  I  've  kept  it;  brought  my  girl  right  up  to  it 
too.  She  's  been  my  mainstay  through  it  all  these 
last  ten  years.  I  took  in  washing  and  ironing  in  the 
basement  of  this  very  house,  —  my  saving  angel 
helped  me  to  work,  —  and  when  it  was  done,  late  at 
night  between  eleven  and  twelve,  I  'd  go  down  to  the 
rivers,  sometimes  one,  sometimes  t'  other,  and  watch 
and  wait,  ready  to  do  what  come  in  my  way. 

"  At  first  the  police  got  on  to  my  track  thinking 
something  was  wrong;  but  it  took  'bout  two  words 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  15 

to  set  'em  right,  as  it  did  every  other  man  that  come 
near  me ;  and  soon  I  went  and  come  and  no  questions 
asked. 

"  One  night  I  'd  been  down  to  one  of  the  North 
River  piers.  It  was  in  December,  and  a  howling 
northeaster  had  set  in  just  before  sundown.  It  was 
sleeting  and  snowing  and  blowing  a  little  harder  than 
even  I  could  stand.  I  had  just  crossed  the  street 
from  the  pier  and  was  thanking  God,  as  I  covered  my 
head  closer  with  my  shawl,  that,  so  far  as  I  knew, 
no  one  of  His  children  was  tired  of  living,  when  some 
thing  —  I  did  n't  see  what  for  I  was  bending  over 
against  the  wind  — •  went  by  me  with  a  rush,  and  I 
thought  I  heard  a  groan.  I  turned  as  quick  as  a  flash, 
and  see  something  dark  running,  swaying,  stumbling 
across  the  street,  headed  for  the  pier.  That  was 
enough  for  me. 

"  I  caught  up  my  skirt  and  give  chase.  How  the 
woman,  for  it  was  one,  could  get  over  the  ground  so 
fast  was  a  mystery,  except  that  she  was  running  with 
the  wind.  She  was  on  to  the  pier  in  no  time.  I  cried 
'  Stop!  '  and  '  Watch!  '  I  don't  think  she  heard  me. 
Once  she  nearly  fell,  and  I  thought  I  had  her  I  was  so 
close  to  her;  but  she  was  up  and  off  again  before  I 
could  lay  hand  on  her.  Then  I  shouted;  and  the 
Lord  must  have  lent  me  Gabriel's  trump,  for  the 
woman  turned  once,  and  when  she  see  me  she  threw 
out  her  hands  and  fairly  flew. 

"  The  Sound  steamer  had  n't  gone  out,  the  night 
was  so  thick  and  bad,  and  the  cabin  lights  alongside 
shone  out  bright  enough  for  me  to  mark  her  as  she 
dodged  this  way  and  that  trying  to  get  to  the  end 
of  the  pier. 

"  She  knew  I  was  after  her,  and  I  was  n't  going  to 


16  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

give  up.  But  when  I  see  the  make-fast,  and  all 
around  it  the  yeasting  white  on  water  as  black  as 
ink,  and  she  standing  there  with  her  arms  up  ready 
to  jump,  my  knees  knocked  together.  Somehow  I 
managed  to  get  hold  of  her  dress  —  but  she  did  n't 
move;  and  all  of  a  sudden,  before  I  could  get  my 
arms  around  her,  she  dropped  in  a  heap,  groaning: 
'  My  child  —  my  child  - 

"  I  've  always  thought  't  was  then  her  heart  broke. 

"  A  deck-hand  on  the  steamer  heard  me  screech, 
and  together  we  got  her  on  the  floor  of  the  lower  deck. 
We  did  what  we  could  for  her,  and  when  she  'd  come 
to,  they  got  me  a  hack  and  I  took  her  home,  laid  her 
on  my  bed,  and  sent  the  hackman  for  Doctor  Rugvie. 
He  's  been  my  right-hand  man  all  these  years.  He 
stayed  with  her  till  daylight.  He  told  me  she  'd  never 
come  through  alive;  the  heart  action  was  all  wrong. 

"  After  he  'd  gone,  she  spoke  for  the  first  time  and 
asked  for  some  paper  and  a  pencil.  I  propped  her 
up  on  the  pillows,  and  all  that  day  between  her  pains 
she  was  writing,  writing  and  tearing  up.  Towards 
night  she  grew  worse.  I  asked  her  name  then,  and 
if  she  had  any  friends.  She  looked  at  me  with  a  look 
that  made  my  heart  sink ;  but  she  give  me  no  answer. 
About  six,  she  handed  me  a  slip  of  paper  —  '  A  tele 
gram/  she  said,  and  asked  me  if  I  would  send  it  right 
off.  I  could  n't  leave  her,  but  when  the  Doctor  come 
about  eight,  I  slipped  out  and  sent  it.  The  name  on 
it  was  the  one  you  say  was  your  mother's  husband's 
and  the  message  said: 

"  '  I  am  dying  and  alone  among  strangers.  Will 
you  come  to  me  for  the  sake  of  my  child,'  and  she 
give  me  the  address. 

"  Come  here,  my  dear,"  said  the  woman  suddenly 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  17 

to  me.    I  was  staring  at  her,  not  knowing  whether  I 
drew  breath  or  not;    "  come  here  to  me." 

I  rose  mechanically.  The  woman  drew  me  down 
upon  her  knee  and  put  her  two  strong  arms  about  me. 
I  knew  I  was  in  the  presence  of  revelation. 

"  At  midnight  her  child,  a  girl,  was  born  —  the 
third  of  December  just  twenty-six  years  ago.  Doc 
tor  Rugvie  fought  for  her  life,  but  he  could  n't  save 
her.  At  one  she  died  —  of  a  broken  heart  and  no 
mistake,  so  the  Doctor  said.  She  refused  to  give 
him  her  name  and  he  left  her  in  peace  —  that 's  his 
way.  But  before  she  died  she  give  him  an  envelope 
which  she  filled  with  some  things  she  'd  been  writing 
in  the  afternoon,  and  said: 

"  '  Keep  them  —  for  my  daughter.    I  trust  you.' 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  my  dear,  the  sorrow  in  this  God's 
earth!  I  ain't  got  used  to  it  yet  and  never  shall. 
That  dying  face  was  like  an  angel's.  Doctor  Rugvie 
said  he  'd  never  seen  the  like  before.  She  spoke  only 
once  to  him  in  all  her  agony;  then  she  said:  '  The 
little  life  that  is  coming  is  worth  all  this  —  all  — 
all.' 

"  The  next  morning  there  come  a  telegram  from 
somewhere    in    New    England  —  I   forget   where  — 
'  Will  be  with  you  at  two.' 

"  And  sure  enough,  a  little  after  two,  a  young  feller 
come  to  the  door.  He  did  n't  look  more  'n  twenty,  but 
it  seemed  from  his  face  as  if  those  twenty  years  had 
done  something  to  him  't  would  generally  take  a  man's 
lifetime  to  do,  and  said  he  'd  come  to  claim  her  who 
was  his  wife.  That 's  just  what  he  said,  no  more,  no 
less:  'I've  come  to  claim  her  who  was  my  wife. 
Where  is  she?  '  And  he  give  me  the  telegram. 

"  It  was  'bout  the  hardest  thing  I  've  ever  had  to 


i8  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

do,  but  I  had  to  tell  him  just  as  things  was.  I  thought 
for  a  minute  he  was  going  to  fall  he  shook  so;  but  he 
laid  hold  of  the  door-jamb  and,  straightening  himself, 
looked  me  square  in  the  eye  just  as  composed  as 
Doctor  Rugvie  himself,  and  says: 

"  '  In  that  case  I  have  come  to  claim  the  body  of 
her  who  was  my  wife.' 

"  Those  are  his  very  words.  I  took  him  into  the 
back  room  and  left  'em  alone  together.  I  did  n't  dare 
to  say  a  word  for  his  face  scairt  me. 

"  When  he  come  out  he  said  he  would  relieve  me 
of  all  further  responsibility,  which  I  took  pains  to 
inform  him  included  a  day-old  baby,  thinking  that 
would  fetch  some  explanation  from  him.  But  he 
did  n't  seem  to  lay  any  weight  on  that  part  of  it.  He 
made  all  the  arrangements  himself,  and  I  took  a  back 
seat.  I  see  I  was  n't  any  more  necessary  to  him  than 
if  I  had  n't  been  there.  He  went  out  for  an  hour  and 
come  back  with  a  nurse;  and  at  six  that  afternoon  he 
drove  away  in  a  hack  with  her  and  the  baby,  an  ex 
press  cart  with  the  body  following  on  behind. 

"  I  told  him  the  last  thing  'fore  he  went  that  his 
wife  had  given  an'envelopewith  some  papers  to  Doctor 
Rugvie,  and  that  they  were  for  his  child.  He  turned 
and  give  me  a  look  that  was  beyond  me.  I  never  could 
fathom  that  look !  It  said  more  'n  any  living  human 
being's  look  that  I  ever  see  —  if  only  I  could  have 
read  it!  But  he  never  spoke  a  word,  not  even  a  word 
of  thanks  —  not  that  I  was  expecting  or  wanted  any 
after  seeing  his  face  as  he  stood  hanging  on  to  the  door- 
jamb.  I  knew  then  he  did  n't  really  see  me  nor  any 
thing  else  except  the  body  of  his  wife  somewhere  in 
that  basement.  He  did  everything  as  if  he  'd  been  a 
machine  instead  of  a  human  being;  and  when  I  see 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  19 

him  drive  off  I  did  n't  know  much  more  'n  I  did  when 
I  took  the  woman  in,  except  that  she  was  married." 

She  was  silent.    I  drew  a  long  breath. 

"  Is  that  all  you  know?  "  I  felt  I  could  not  be 
left  so,  suspended  as  it  were  over  the  abyss  of  the 
unknown  in  my  life. 

She  sighed.  "  My  dear,  this  great  city  is  full  of 
just  such  mysteries  that  no  human  being  can  fathom. 
I,  for  one,  don't  try  to.  I  can  only  lend  a  helping 
hand,  and  ask  no  questions;  't  ain't  best.  Well, 
I  've  been  talking  a  blue  streak  for  a  half  an  hour, 
but  I  've  had  to.  When  you  laid  there  on  the  cot, 
you  was  the  living  image  of  that  other,  only  thinner, 
smaller  like.  You  told  me  you  was  born  in  this  city 
twenty-six  years  ago  come  the  third  of  next  De 
cember;  that  you  did  n't  know  who  your  father  was, 
but  that  your  mother  was  married.  Her  husband's 
name  was  the  same  as  the  one  on  the  telegram.  I  've 
put  two  and  two  together,  and  perhaps  I  've  made 
five  out  of  it.  Anyway  it 's  your  right  to  know.  I  'm 
sure  Doctor  Rugvie  will  back  me  up  in  this." 

For  a  moment  I  made  no  answer.    Then  I  spoke: 

"  Are  you  sure  there  is  no  more?  You  can't  recall 
anything  that  Doctor  Rugvie  said  about  that  paper 
in  the  envelope?  " 

"  Well,  yes,  I  can;  a  little  more.  After  all,  it 's 
what  will  help  you  most  —  and  yet  I  ain't  sure  - 

"Tell  me,  do — do."  My  hands  clasped  each 
other  nervously. 

"  Why,  it's  just  this:  Doctor  Rugvie  was  called 
away  out  of  the  city  on  a  case  as  soon  as  he  'd  got 
through  here,  and  meantime  the  young  feller  had 
come  and  gone.  When  the  Doctor  come  back  I  told 
him  what  had  been  going  on  while  he  was  away,  and 


20  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

I  give  him  the  envelope.  He  told  me  he  found  her 
marriage  certificate  in  it  —  but  not  to  the  man  whose 
name  was  on  the  telegram.  I  never  could  make 
head  nor  tail  of  it." 

"  Married  —  my  mother  married  -  '  I  repeated. 
I  drew  away  from  the  woman's  restraining  arms 
and  slipping  to  my  knees  beside  her,  buried  my  face 
in  her  lap  and  began  to  sob.  I  could  not  help  it. 
I  was  broken  for  the  time  both  physically  and  men 
tally  by  the  force  of  my  unpent  emotion. 

The  woman  laid  her  hand  protectingly,  tenderly 
on  my  quivering  shoulders,  and  waited.  She  must 
have  seen  spring  freshets  before,  many  a  one  during 
the  past  thirty  years,  and  have  known  both  their 
benefit  and  injury  to  the  human  soul.  Gradually  I 
regained  my  control. 

"  Oh,  you  don't  know  what  this  means  to  me!  " 
I  exclaimed,  lifting  my  face  swollen  with  weeping 
to  the  kindly  one  that  looked  down  into  mine.  "  You 
don't  know  what  this  means  to  me  —  it  has  lifted 
so  much,  so  much  —  has  let  in  so  much  light  just 
at  a  time  when  I  needed  it  so  —  when  everything 
looked  so  black.  Sometime  I  will  tell  you;  but  now 
I  want  to  know  when,  where,  how  I  can  get  hold  of 
that  marriage  certificate.  It  belongs  to  me  —  to 
me." 

I  rose  with  an  energy  that  surprised  the  woman 
and,  stooping,  took  her  face  between  my  hands  and 
kissed  her.  I  smiled  down  into  that  face.  She  sat 
speechless.  I  smiled  again.  She  passed  her  hand 
over  her  eyes  as  if  trying  to  clear  her  mind  of  con 
fusing  ideas.  I  spoke  again  to  her: 

"  The  tempest  is  over;  why  should  n't  we  look  for 
a  bright  to-morrow?  "  I  could  hear  the  vibrant 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  21 

note  of  a  new  hope  in  my  voice.  The  woman  heard 
it  too.  She  continued  to  stare  at  me.  I  drew  up  my 
chair  to  hers  and,  laying  my  hand  on  her  knee, 
said  persuasively: 

"  Now,  let 's  talk;  and  let  me  ask  some  questions." 

"  To  be  sure;  to  be  sure,"  the  woman  replied.  I 
know  she  was  wondering  what  would  be  the  next 
move  on  the  part  of  her  applicant. 

"  Don't  you  want  to  know  my  name?  "  I  said. 
"  That 's  rather  an  important  matter  when  you  take 
a  new  position;  and  you  said  the  place  was  mine, 
did  n't  you?  " 

The  woman  smiled  indulgently.  "  To  be  sure  it 's 
yours;  and  what  is  your  name?  "  she  asked,  frankly 
curious  at  last. 

"  Marcia  Farrell,  but  I  took  my  great-grand 
mother's  maiden  name.  There  are  none  of  the 
family  left;  I  'm  the  last." 

"  What  was  you  christened?  " 

"  I  never  was  christened.  And  what  is  your 
name?  " 

"Delia  Beaseley." 

"  And  your  daughter's?  " 

"  Jane." 

"  And  when  does  Doctor  Rugvie  return?  " 

"  The  last  of  November.  You  want  that  certifi 
cate?  " 

"  I  must  have  it;  it  is  mine  by  right."  I  spoke 
with  decision. 

"  Well,  you  '11  get  it  just  as  soon  as  the  Doctor 
can  find  it;  like  enough  it 's  locked  up  in  some  Safe 
Deposit  with  his  papers;  you  mustn't  forget  it's 
been  nearly  twenty-six  years  since  he 's  had  it. 
—  I  can't  for  the  life  of  me  think  of  that  name." 


22  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

"  Never  mind  that  now;  tell  me  about  the  place. 
Where  is  it?  Who  are  the  people?  Or  is  there 
only  one  —  it  said  'an  elderly.  Scotchwoman '.  Do 
you  know  her?  " 

"  No,  my  dear,  I  don't  know  any  one  of  them,  and 
Doctor  Rugvie  does  n't  mean  I  should;  that 's  where 
he  trusts  me.  I  can  tell  you  where  the  place  is: 
Lamoral,  Province  of  Quebec;  more 'n  that  I  don't 
know." 

"  But,"  I  spoke  half  in  protest,  "  does  n't  Doctor 
Rugvie  think  that  any  one  taking  the  position  ought 
to  know  beforehand  where  she  is  going  and  whom 
she  's  going  to  live  with?  " 

"  He  might  tell  you  if  he  was  here  himself,  and 
then  again  he  mightn't.  You  see  it 's  this  way:  he 
trusts  me  to  use  my  common  sense  in  accepting  an 
applicant,  and  he  expects  the  applicant  to  trust  his 
name  for  reference  to  go  to  the  end  of  the  world  if 
he  sends  her  there,  without  asking  questions." 

"  Oh,  the  old  tyrant!  "  I  laughed  a  little.  "  What 
does  he  pay?  "  was  my  next  question. 

"  Doctor  Rugvie!  You  think  he  pays?  Good 
gracious,  child,  you  are  on  the  wrong  track." 

"  Then  put  me  on  the  right  one,  please."  I  laid 
my  hand  on  the  hard  roughened  one. 

"  I  s'pose  I  might  as  well;  I  don't  believe  the 
Doctor  would  mind." 

"  Of  course  he  would  n't."  I  spoke  with  a  fine,  as 
sumed  assurance.  Delia  Beaseley  smiled. 

"  You  know  I  told  you  that  young  feller  who  come 
here  went  away  without  saying  so  much  as  '  Thank 
you  '  ?  " 

I  merely  nodded  in  reply.  That  question  sud 
denly  quenched  all  the  new  hope  of  a  new  life  in  me. 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  23 

"  Along  the  first  of  the  New  Year,  that  was  twenty- 
five  years  ago,  I  got  a  draft  by  mail  from  a  national 
bank  in  this  city;  the  draft  was  on  that  bank;  it 
was  for  five  hundred  dollars.  And  ever  since,  in 
December,  I  have  had  a  check  for  one  hundred  in 
the  same  way.  I  always  get  Doctor  Rugvie  to  cash 
them  for  me,  and  he  says  no  questions  are  answered; 
after  the  first  year  he  did  n't  ask  any.  The  Doc 
tor  's  in  the  same  boat.  He  's  got  a  draft  on  that 
same  bank  for  five  hundred  dollars  every  year  for 
the  last  twenty-five  years.  He  says  it 's  conscience 
money;  and  he  feels  just  as  I  do,  that  it  comes 
either  from  the  man  who  claimed  to  be  the  woman's 
husband,  or  from  that  other  she  was  married  to 
according  to  the  certificate.  —  I  can't  think  of  that 
name! 

"  He  don't  care  much,  I  guess,  seeing  the  use  he  's 
going  to  put  the  money  to.  He  's  hired  a  farm  for  a 
term  of  years,  up  in  the  Province  of  Quebec,  some 
where  near  the  St.  Lawrence,  with  some  good  buildings 
on  it;  and  when  he  knows  of  somebody  that  needs 
just  such  a  home  to  pick  up  in  he  is  going  to  send  'em 
up  there.  And  the  conscience  money  is  going  to  help 
out.  This  is  the  place  where  you  're  to  help  the 
Scotchwoman,  as  I  understand  it.  Now  that 's  all 
I  can  tell  you,  except  the  wages  is  twenty-five  dol 
lars  a  month  besides  room  and  keep.  I  s'pose  you  '11 
go  for  that?  " 

"Go!  I  can't  wait  to  get  away;  I  'd  like  to  go 
to-morrow,  but  I  must  stay  two  or  three  weeks 
longer  in  the  library.  But,  I  don't  understand  — 
how  am  I  to  accept  the  place  without  notification? 
And  you  don't  know  even  the  name  of  the  Scotch 
woman?  " 


24  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

"  I  '11  tend  to  that.  My  girl  writes  all  the  letters 
for  me,  and  the  letters  to  this  place  go  in  the  care 
of  the  '  Seigniory  of  Lamoral ',  whatever  that  may 
mean.  They  get  there  all  right.  You  come  round 
here  within  a  week,  and  I  'm  pretty  sure  that  the 
directions  will  be  here  with  the  passage  money." 

I  felt  my  face  flush  from  my  chin  to  the  roots  of 
my  hair;  and  I  knew,  moreover,  that  Delia  Beaseley 
was  reading  that  sign  with  keen  accustomed  eyes; 
she  knew  there  was  sore  need  for  just  that  help. 


Ill 

DO  you  who  are  reading  these  life-lines  know 
what  it  is  to  be  alone  in  a  world  none  too 
mindful  of  anyone,  even  if  he  be  somebody? 
Never  to  experience  after  the  day's  work  the  rest  and 
joy  of  home-coming  to  one's  own? 

Do  you  know  what  it  is  to  acknowledge  no  tie  of 
blood  that  binds  one  life  to  another  and  makes  for 
a  common  interest  in  joy  or  sorrow?  To  ask  yourself: 
Do  I  belong  here?  To  wonder,  perhaps,  why,  in  fact, 
you  are  here?  To  feel  your  isolation  in  a  crowded 
thoroughfare,  your  remoteness  in  the  midst  of  an  alien 
family  life?  To  feel,  in  truth,  a  stranger  on  this  earth? 

If  you  have  known  this,  if  you  have  experienced 
this,  or,  even  if,  at  times,  you  have  been  only  dimly 
conscious  of  this  for  another,  then  you  will  understand 
these  my  life-lines,  and  it  may  be  they  will  interpret 
something  of  yourself  to  yourself. 

Delia  Beaseley  walked  with  me  as  far  as  the  Bow 
ery.  There  I  insisted  on  her  leaving  me.  I  assured 
her  I  was  used  to  the  streets  of  New  York  in 
the  evening.  However,  she  waited  with  me  for  the 
car. 

When  I  said  good  night  to  the  woman,  who  twenty- 
six  years  ago  saved  another  woman,  "  one  who  had 
missed  her  footing  ",  —  those  words  seem  to  ring  con- 


26  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

stantly  in  my  ears,  —  in  order  that  I,  Marcia  Farrell, 
that  stranger's  child,  might  become  the  living  fact  I 
am,  I  began  to  realize  that  during  the  last  hour  I  had 
been  acting  a  part,  and  acting  it  well;  that,  without 
sacrificing  the  truth  at  any  stage  of  the  evening's 
developments,  I  had  been  able  to  obtain  all  this  in 
formation,  which  pointed  to  a  crisis  in  my  life,  yet 
had  given  but  little  return  in  kind.  I  felt  justified 
in  withholding  it. 

Now,  as  soon  as  I  had  left  her  and  entered  the  car, 
there  was  a  reaction  from  the  intensity  of  my  emotion. 
I  felt  a  strange  elation  of  spirit,  a  rising  courage  to 
face  the  new  conditions  in  that  other  country,  and  a 
consequent  physical  recuperation.  The  lassitude  that 
had  burdened  me  since  my  long  illness  seemed  to  have 
left  me.  My  mind  was  alert.  I  felt  I  had  been  able 
to  take  advantage  of  a  promising  circumstance  and, 
in  so  doing,  the  mental  inertia  from  which  I  had 
been  suffering  for  three  months  was  overcome. 

Without  being  able  to  find  any  special  reason  for 
it,  my  life  began  to  assume  importance  in  my  thoughts. 
I  suppose  this  is  the  normal  condition  of  youth;  only, 
I  never  felt  that  I  had  had  much  youth.  With  the 
thought  of  this  new  future,  unknown,  untried  as  it 
was,  opening  before  me,  I  experienced  an  unaccount 
able  security,  an  unwonted  serenity  of  existence.  All 
these  thoughts  and  feelings  crowded  upon  me  as  I 
rode  up  through  the  noisy  Bowery. 

All  my  life  hitherto  had  been  undefined  to  me  on  the 
side  of  expansion;  only  its  limitations  impressed  me 
as  being  ever  present,  sharply  outlined,  hedging  me  in 
with  memories  that  gave  no  scope  for  anticipation. 
Sometimes  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  I  had  always  been 
old;  the  seven  years  in  New  York,  my  daily  encoun- 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  27 

ter  with  metropolitan  life  and  its  problem  of  "  keep  " 
had  intensified  this  feeling. 

When  I  came  down  to  the  city  to  look  for  work  I 
was  nearly  twenty.  I  had  left  what  to  me  was  a  make 
shift  for  a  home  — •  and  I  regretted  nothing.  I  had 
done  my  whole  duty  there  in  caring  for  my  grand 
father,  imbecile  for  years,  and  my  aunt,  the  last  of 
my  family,  until  they  died.  Then  I  was  free. 

After  paying  all  the  debts,  I  found  I  had  just 
thirty  dollars  of  my  own.  With  these  I  started  for  the 
city.  On  my  arrival  this  amount  was  diminished 
by  nine. 

At  twenty  I  was  facing  life  for  the  first  time  alone, 
unfriended,  in  new  conditions;  poor,  too,  but  that 
I  had  always  been.  I  knew  that  money  must  be  had 
somehow,  must  be  forthcoming  in  a  few  days  at  most. 
But  at  that  time  my  spirit  was  indomitable,  my  cour 
age  high.  I  was  my  own  mistress ;  and  my  only  feel 
ing,  as  I  sat  in  the  Grand  Central  Station  on  that 
morning  of  my  arrival,  reading  through  the  various 
columns  of  "  wants  "  in  the  early  newspapers,  was 
that  I  had  escaped,  at  last,  from  all  associations  that 
were  hateful  to  me. 

I  was  thinking  of  all  this  as  the  car  passed  with 
frequent  haltings  along  the  noisy  Bowery,  and  of  that 
first  experience  of  this  city:  its  need-driven  herds  of 
human  beings,  the  thoroughfares  crowded  with  traffic, 
its  nightmare  crossings,  the  clank  and  deafening  roar 
of  the  overhead  railroad,  when,  suddenly,  mingled 
with  the  steam  rising  from  the  pavements,  that  were 
cooling  rapidly  after  the  recent  shower,  I  smelt  the 
acrid  heaviness  of  fresh  printer's  ink.  That  smell 
visualized  for  me  the  column  of  leaded  "  Wants," 
the  dismal  waiting-room,  the  uncompromising  day- 


28  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

light  that  spared  no  wrinkle,  no  paint,  no  moth-spot 
on  the  indifferent  faces  about  me.  That  was  nearly 
seven  years  ago  —  and  now  - 

I  found  I  was  at  Union  Square,  and  got  out;  walked 
a  block  to  Broadway  and  waited  on  the  corner  for  an 
uptown  car.  During  that  minute  of  waiting,  a  woman 
spoke  to  me: 

"  If  I  take  a  car  here  can  I  get  up  to  West  Sixty- 
first  street?  " 

"  Yes."  My  answer  was  short  and  sharp.  I  had 
heard  the  kind  of  question  put  in  that  oily  voice  too 
many  times  to  pay  any  further  heed  to  it.  I  stepped 
out  into  the  street  to  take  the  car. 

"  If  you  're  going  up  that  way  I  might  as  well  go 
'long  too.  I  like  comp'ny,"  said  the  woman,  keeping 
abreast  of  me  and  nudging  me  with  an  elbow. 

The  car  was  nearly  full,  and  the  crowd  waiting  for 
it  made  a  running  assault  upon  the  few  vacancies. 
Just  before  it  stopped  I  saw  some  one  leave  the  seat  be 
hind  the  motor-man;  I  made  a  rush  to  secure  the 
place.  As  I  sat  down  the  woman  mounted  the  step. 

"  You  don't  get  rid  of  me  so  easy,  duckie,"  she  said 
with  a  leer. 

I  turned  squarely  to  her,  looking  beneath  the  wide 
brim  of  the  tawdry  bedraggled  hat  to  find  her  eyes; 
her  gin-laden  breath  was  hot  on  my  cheek. 

"  You  go  your  way  and  I  '11  go  mine,"  I  said  in  a  low 
hard  voice. 

With  a  curse  the  woman  swung  off  the  step  just  as 
the  two  signal  bells  rang. 

I  took  off  my  hat.  The  night  was  cooling  rapidly 
after  the  tempest.  The  motion  of  the  car  created  a 
movement  of  air  against  my  face.  It  was  grateful  to 
me.  I  drew  a  long  breath  of  relief;  these  evening 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  29 

rides  in  the  open  cars  were  one  of  my  few  recrea 
tions. 

As  the  car  sped  along  the  broad  thoroughfare,  now 
so  long  familiar  to  me,  so  wonderful  and  alluring  to 
my  country  eyes  in  those  early  years,  so  drearily  arti 
ficial  and  depressing  in  the  later  ones,  I  found  myself 
dwelling  again  on  that  first  experience  in  this  city; 
I  recalled  the  first  time  I  was  accosted  by  a  woman 
pander.  It  was  when  I  was  reading  the  wants  that 
morning  of  my  arrival.  I  looked  up  to  find  her  taking 
a  seat  beside  me — a  woman  who  tried  by  every  dives' 
art  of  which  she  was  possessed  to  entice  me  to  go  with 
her  on  leaving  the  station.  Oh,  she  was  awful,  that 
woman!  I  never  knew  there  were  such  till  then. 

The  searchlight  of  memory  struck  full  upon  my 
thought  at  that  time:  And  they  said  my  mother  was 
like  this! 

That  thought,  horrible  as  it  was  to  me,  was  my  safe 
guard  then  and  has  been  ever  since.  Such  as  they  said 
my  mother  was,  I  would  never  be.  Nor  am  I  aware 
that  any  moral  factor  was  the  lever  in  this  decision. 
Rather  it  was  my  pride  that  had  been  scourged  for 
many  years  by  a  girl's  half  knowledge  of  her  mother's 
career,  my  sensitiveness  that  was  ever  ready  at  the 
least  outside  touch  to  make  me  close  in  upon  myself, 
the  horror  of  thinking  it  might  be  possible  that  my 
name  could  be  used  as  I  had  heard  my  mother's,  that 
had  panoplied  my  nature  and  warped  it  until  that 
nature  had  narrowed  to  its  armor.  I  was  proud, 
sensitive,  cold,  or  thought  I  was  —  and  I  was  glad 
of  it. 

It  had  come  to  a  point,  at  last,  now  when  I  was 
nearly  twenty-six,  that  in  what  I  termed  my  strength, 
lay  my  weakness.  But  of  this  I  was,  as  yet,  unaware. 


30  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

I  shut  my  eyes  as  the  car  sped  onwards  that  I  might 
not  see  the  swift  succession  of  glaring  lights  —  the 
many  flashing,  changing,  nerve-tormenting  electric 
signs  and  advertisements,  the  brilliant  globes,  stars, 
and  whirligigs  of  all  kinds.  How  they  tired  me  now! 
And  the  summer  theatre  throngs  streaming  in  under 
the  entrance  arches  picked  out  in  glowing  red  and 
white,  the  saloons  flashing  a  well-known  signal  to 
customers  —  I  knew  it  all  and  was  glad  to  close  my 
eyes  to  it  all.  Now  and  then  I  caught  a  strain  of 
music  from  the  orchestra  of  some  roof-garden. 

At  Seventy-second  Street  I  changed  for  Amsterdam 
Avenue.  I  wanted  to  get  away  to  the  heights.  The 
air  was  becoming  fresher  and  I  needed  more  of  it. 
Another  twenty  minutes  and  the  car  stopped  near  the 
brow  of  the  hill.  I  left  it  and  walked  a  cross  block 
till  I  came  to  Morningside  Heights,  the  small,  irregu 
lar,  but  beautiful  promenade  behind  St.  Luke's. 

I  leaned  on  the  massive  stone  coping  that  crowns 
the  wall  of  the  escarpment;  below  me  the  hill  sloped 
sharply  to  the  flats  of  the  Harlem.  I  looked  off  over 
the  city. 

East,  and  north-east  in  the  direction  of  the  Sound, 
great  cloud  masses,  the  wrack  of  the  tempest,  were 
piled  high  towards  the  zenith;  but  beneath  them  there 
was  a  clear  zone  near  the  city's  level.  A  moon  nearly 
two  thirds  to  the  full,  was  heralding  its  appearance 
above  them  by  lighted  rifts,  bright-rimmed  haloes,  and 
the  marvellous  play  of  direct  shaft  light  that  struck 
downwards  behind  the  clouds  into  the  clear  space 
above  the  city  and  shot  white  radiance  upon  its  roofs. 
The  sky,  also,  while  yet  the  moon  was  invisible,  was 
radiant,  but  with  starlight. 

Against  this  background,  I  watched  the  glow-worm 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  31 

lights  of  the  elevated  trains  winding  along  the  high 
invisible  trestle-work.  Beneath  me  lay  Morningside 
Park,  the  foliage  and  its  shadows  blackened  in  masses 
beneath  the  glaring  white  of  the  arc-lights;  and  be 
yond,  in  seemingly  interminable  perspective,  the  long 
converging  lines  of  parallel  street  lights  led  my  gaze 
across  the  city  to  some  large,  unknown,  uncertain 
flarings  somewhere  near  the  East  River  shore. 

And  from  all  this  wide-stretching  housing-place  of 
a  vast  population,  there  rose  into  my  ears  a  continu 
ous,  dull,  peculiar  sound,  as  of  the  magnified  stertorous 
breathing  of  a  hived  and  stifled  humanity. 

I  had  come  here  many  times  in  the  last  four  years, 
at  all  seasons,  at  all  times.  I  drew  strength  and 
inspiration  from  this  view  in  all  its  aspects,  until  my 
almost  fatal  illness  in  the  late  spring.  After  that  there 
came  upon  me  a  powerful  longing  for  change.  I 
wanted  to  get  away  from  this  city,  its  sights  and 
sounds;  to  escape  from  the  conditions  that  were  sap 
ping  my  life.  And  the  way  was,  at  last,  opened. 
How  I  exulted  in  this  thought! 

There  were  others  on  the  promenade,  and  I  was 
withdrawn  from  thought  of  myself  by  hearing  voices, 
a  man's  and  a  woman's,  below  me  on  the  winding 
walk  that  leads  down  the  slope  past  the  poplars  to  the 
level  of  the  Harlem  streets.  The  woman's  was  plead 
ing,  strident  from  excitement;  it  broke  at  last  in  a  dry 
hard  sob.  The  man's  was  hateful;  the  tones  and 
accents  like  a  vicious  snarl. 

I  turned  away  sickened,  indignant. 

"  It 's  always  so  in  this  city!  "  I  said  to  myself  while 
I  walked  rapidly  towards  the  hospital.  "  If  I  get  a 
chance  for  a  breath  of  fresh  air,  or  if  I  take  a  walk  in 
the  park,  or  have  an  outlook  that,  for  a  moment,  is  free 


32  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

from  all  suggestions  of  crime  and  horror  —  then  be 
ware!  For  then  I  have  to  shut  my  ears  not  to  hear 
the  fatal  sounds  of  human  brutishness;  or  I  hear  a 
shot  in  the  park,  and  a  life  goes  out  in  some  thick- 
foliaged  path;  or  I  have  to  turn  away  my  eyes  from  a 
sight  in  the  gutter  that  offends  three  of  my  senses  — 
and  so  my  day  is  ruined.  It 's  merciless,  merciless  — 
and  I  loathe  it!  "  I  cried  within  myself  as  I  passed  the 
hospital. 

I  lifted  my  eyes  to  the  massive  purity  of  noble 
St.  Luke's,  the  windows  rising  tier  upon  tier  above 
me.  A  light  showed  here  and  there.  At  the  sight 
my  mood  softened. 

"  Oh,  I  know  it  is  merciful  too  —  it  is  merciful,"  I 
murmured;  then  I  stopped  short  and  turned  back  to 
the  entrance.  I  entered  the  main  vestibule,  mounted 
the  marble  steps  that  lead  to  the  chapel,  opened  the 
noiseless  heavily-padded  doors,  and  sat  down  near 
the  entrance. 

The  air  was  close  and  hot  after  the  outer  freshness; 
the  lights  few.  The  stained-glass  window  behind  the 
altar  was  a  meaningless  confused  mass  of  leaded  opac 
ity.  I  knew  that  the  daylight  was  needed  to  ensoul  it, 
to  give  to  the  dead  unmeaning  material  its  spiritual 
symbolism.  And  because  I  knew  this,  I  realized,  as 
I  sat  there,  what  a  long  distance  in  a  certain  direction 
I  had  travelled  since  that  morning  in  the  Grand  Cen 
tral  Station,  seven  years  ago. 

But  the  air  was  very  close.  I  felt  depressed,  disap 
pointed,  that  the  time  and  the  place  yielded  me  noth 
ing.  I  was  faint,  too;  I  had  taken  nothing  but  the 
cocoa  since  noon.  Without  realizing  it,  another  re 
action  from  that  strange  elation  of  spirit  was  setting 
in.  I  knew  I  ought  to  be  in  the  attic  room  in  Chelsea 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  33 

rather  than  where  I  was.    It  was  already  nine,  and  an 
hour's  ride  before  me  on  the  surface  car. 

I  went  out  to  Amsterdam  Avenue.  No  car  was  in 
sight.  I  walked  on  down  the  hill,  knowing  that  one 
would  soon  overtake  me. 

A  man  and  woman  were  just  behind  me  talking  — 
at  least,  the  woman  was.  I  recognized  her  voice  as 
one  of  those  I  had  heard  on  the  winding  path  by  the 
poplars.  A  moment  after,  they  passed  me  in  a  notice 
ably  peculiar  fashion:  the  man  sauntering  by  on  my 
right,  the  woman  hurrying  past  on  my  left.  At  the 
same  moment  I  heard  the  car  coming  down  the  hill. 
I  turned  at  once,  but  only  to  see  the  man,  who  had 
passed  me,  running  swiftly  along  the  pavement  and 
up  the  hill  to  meet  it;  the  woman  was  running  after 
him. 

I  saw  that  the  car  was  over  full.  The  platform  and 
steps  were  black  with  human  beings  clinging  to  the 
guard  rails  like  swarming  bees  alight.  I  saw  the  man 
struggle  madly  to  catch  the  guards  and  gain  a  footing 
on  the  lower  step,  the  woman  still  running  beside  him 
and  holding  him  by  the  coat.  Then  I  was  aware  of  a 
sudden  sweeping  movement  of  the  man's  free  arm,  the 
roar  of  the  car  as  it  sped  down  the  incline,  and  of  the 
woman  lying,  hatless  from  the  force  of  the  man's  blow, 
on  the  pavement  beside  the  track.  He  had  freed 
himself  so! 

Before  I  could  reach  her  the  woman  was  up  and  off 
again,  running  hatless  after  the  quickly  receding  car. 
Only  one  cry,  no  scream,  escaped  her. 

I  shivered.  There  was  nothing  to  be  done  with  such 
as  these,  no  rescue  possible.  A  sudden  thought  half 
paralyzed  me;  I  stood  motionless:  Had  my  own 
mother  ever  been  cast  off  like  this?  Had  such  treat- 


34  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

ment  been  the  cause  of  her  seeking  the  river?    Had  I, 
Marcia  Farrell,  been  fathered  by  such  a  brute? 

For  the  second  time  in  my  life,  I  felt  my  hardness 
of  heart  towards  the  mother  I  had  never  known  soften 
with  pity;  a  sob  rose  in  my  throat.  I  shook  my  shoul 
ders  as  if  freeing  them  from  some  nightmare  clutch, 
and  hurried  to  the  next  corner  to  meet  the  car  that 
was  following  the  other  closely. 


IV 


I  UNLOCKED  my  attic  room  in  the  fourth  story 
of  the  old  Chelsea  house  and  lighted  the  lamp. 
In  contrast  to  what  both  ear  and  eye  had  been 
witness  during  the  evening:  Delia  Beaseley's  account 
of  my  mother's  rescue  and  death,  and  that  scene  of 
life's  brutality  on  Columbia  Heights,  the  sight  of  the 
small  plain  interior  gave  me,  for  the  first  time  in  all 
the  seven  years,  a  home-sense,  a  feeling  of  welcome 
and  refuge. 

I  looked  at  the  cretonne-covered  cot,  the  packing 
boxes  curtained  with  the  same,  the  white  painted 
hanging  box-shelves,  the  one  chair  —  a  flour  barrel, 
cut  to  the  required  form,  well  padded  and  upholstered; 
all  these  were  the  work  of  my  hands  in  free  hours. 
And  I  was  about  to  exchange  the  known  for  the  un 
known!  This  thought  added  to  my  depression. 

I  put  out  the  lamp  and  sat  down  by  the  one  window. 
The  night  air  was  refreshingly  cool.  The  many  lights 
on  the  river  gleamed  clear ;  the  roar  in  the  streets  was 
subdued.  Gradually,  my  antagonism  to  the  physical 
features  of  the  metropolis,  to  its  heedless  crowds,  its 
overpowering  mechanism,  its  thoroughfares  teeming 
with  human  beings  who  passed  me  daily,  knowing 
little  of  their  own  existence  and  nothing  of  mine,  its 
racial  divergencies,  grew  less  intense;  in  fact,  the 
whole  life  of  this  city,  in  its  aspect  of  mere  Jugger 
naut,  was  being  unconsciously  modified  for  me  as 


36  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

I  realized  I  was  about  to  go  forth  into  a  strange 
country. 

I  was  recalling  those  ten  weeks  of  mortal  weakness 
and  suffering  at  St.  Luke's,  the  kindness  of  nurses  and 
physicians.  No  matter  if  I  had  paid  my  way;  theirs 
was  a  ready  helpfulness,  a  steady  administration  of 
the  tonic  of  human  kindness  that  never  could  be 
bought  and  paid  for  in  the  Republic's  money.  I 
thought  of  Delia  Beaseley  and  her  noble  work  among 
those  "  who  had  missed  their  footing  ".  I  relived  in 
imagination  that  rescue  of  my  own  mother,  with  all 
of  the  horror  and  all  of  the  merciful  pity  it  entailed. 
I  found  myself  wondering  if  Doctor  Rugvie  would  be 
able  to  lay  his  hand  on  those  papers  immediately  after 
his  arrival.  I  dwelt  upon  the  many  kindly  advances 
from  my  co-workers  in  theLibrary ;  few  of  these  women 
I  had  met,  for  I  felt  strangely  old,  apart  from  them,  and 
the  struggle  to  live  and  at  the  same  time  accomplish  my 
purpose  had  been  so  hard.  My  landlady,  too,  came 
in  for  a  share  of  my  softening  mood;  exacting,  but 
scrupulously  honest,  she  had  lodged  under  this  same 
roof  a  generation  of  theological  students,  yet  her  best 
dress  remained  a  rusty  alpaca.  I  thought  of  the 
various  types  of  students  for  the  ministry  - 

I  smiled  at  that  thought,  a  smile  that  proved  the 
latent  youth  in  me  was  sufficiently  appreciative,  at 
least  of  that  phase  of  life. 

I  left  the  window  and,  after  closing  the  lower  half 
of  the  inside  shutters,  partly  undressed  and  relighted 
the  lamp.  Then  I  took  two  paper-covered  blank 
books -from  my  trunk.  I  sat  down  in  my  one  easy 
chair  of  home  manufacture  and,  resting  my  feet  on 
the  cot,  began  to  read. 

These  two  books  were  my  journal,  my  confidante, 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  37 

my  most  intimate  companion  for  seven  years.  I  had 
written  in  them  intermittently  only,  and,  as  I  turned  a 
page  here  and  there,  my  eye  dwelt  longest,  not  on  the 
few  high  lights,  as  it  were,  in  my  uneventful  life  of 
work  and  struggle,  but  on  the  many  shadows  they 
deepened  and  emphasized. 

Nov.  4,  1902.  My  first  day  in  New  York.  I  took 
a  hack  from  the  station  to  this  house  in  the  old  "  Chel 
sea  district  "  they  call  it.  My  first  hack-ride;  it  was 
pretty  grand  for  me,  but  I  was  afraid  to  try  the  street 
cars  after  a  horrid  woman  had  tried  her  best  to  get  me 
to  go  with  her  after  I  left  the  station  —  oh,  it  was 
awful!  I  never  knew  there  could  be  such  women  be 
fore  —  not  that  kind.  I  shall  look  for  work  to-morrow. 

Nov.  5.  I  have  to  pay  a  dollar  and  a  half  for  this 
room  in  the  attic.  There  isn't  any  heat,  and  there  is 
no  gas  in  it.  I  have  to  furnish  it  myself.  My  landlady 
is  a  queer  little  old  woman,  Mrs.  Turtelot,  who  has 
kept  lodgers  here  for  thirty  years.  She  has  her  house 
filled  with  the  students  from  the  Theological  Semi 
nary  near  by.  It 's  lucky  I  have  this  place  to  come  to. 
I  wondered  to-day  how  girls  ever  get  on  in  this  city, 
without  having  someone  to  go  to  they  know  is  all 
right.  She  seems  like  a  Frenchwoman,  perhaps  a 
French  Canadian.  I  think  she  must  be,  for  her  mother 
used  to  work  at  Seth  White's  tavern  up  home; 
it  was  through  his  neighbors  I  got  her  address.  She 
says  the  students  have  to  furnish  their  own  bed 
clothes  and  towels.  I  'm  glad  I  brought  mine  with 
me.  It 's  awfully  cold  here  to-night,  but  Mrs.  Turte 
lot  has  given  me  a  lamp,  till  I  can  get  one,  and  that 
warms  up  some.  Anyway,  I  feel  safe  here  from  that 
other  kind.  I  '11  soon  earn  enough  to  fix  up  a  little. 


38  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

Nov.  6.  I  've  been  tramping  about  all  day  answer 
ing  advertisements.  Mrs.  Turtelot  told  me  not  to 
go  into  any  strange  place,  like  up  stairs,  and  not  to  go 
over  a  door  sill.  I  have  n't  found  that  so  easy. 

I  've  been  afraid  all  day  of  getting  lost,  but  she  told 
me  to-night  to  ask  every  time  for  West  Twenty-third 
Street  and  follow  it  to  the  river;  then  I  could  always 
find  my  way  here. 

I  slept  in  her  room  on  the  sofa  the  first  night;  she 
says  I  can  sleep  with  her  for  a  few  nights  till  I  can 
get  a  cot.  A  student  is  leaving  here  in  a  few  days  and 
he  will  sell  his  second  hand.  But  I  don't  want  to  sleep 
with  her,  and  I  asked  her  as  a  favor  to  let  me  have 
two  pillows.  She  didn't  have  any  extra  ones,  but  let 
me  have  hers;  so  I  have  a  good  bed  on  the  floor. 
Could  n't  find  work. 

Nov.  8.  Mrs.  T.  told  me  to-day  that  it  is  a  bad  time 
of  year  to  find  work.  It  is  late  in  the  season  and  help 
is  being  turned  off,  and,  besides,  it  is  going  to  be  a  hard 
winter,  so  everybody  says.  What  do  the  turned-off 
ones  do,  then,  for  a  living?  —  No  job  yet!  But  I 
won't  go  out  to  service  in  a  private  family  unless  I 
have  to.  I  've  had  enough  of  that  in  the  past. 

Nov.  9.  Since  I  came  here  I  have  answered  fifty- 
two  advertisements.  I  get  the  same  answer  every 
time:  "  You  have  n't  been  trained  and  you  have  n't 
had  any  experience."  How  am  I  to  get  training  and 
experience  if  I  don't  have  the  chance?  That 's  what 
I  want  to  know. 

Nov.  10.  I  've  bought  the  cot  and  the  mattress. 
I  paid  four  dollars  for  them.  There  is  a  small  stove 
hole  in  the  chimney  on  one  side  of  my  room ;  when  I 
get  to  earning,  I  'm  going  to  have  a  little  stove  here 
and  do  my  own  cooking.  Thank  fortune,  I  can  cook 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  39 

as  well  as  chop  wood  if  I  have  to !  So  far  I  've  heated 
my  things  on  Mrs.  T.'s  stove.  She  lives,  that  is,  cooks, 
eats,  sleeps,  and  washes  in  her  back  basement;  the 
front  one  she  rents  to  a  barber.  He  makes  his  living 
from  the  students  round  here  and  the  professors  at 
the  Seminary.  She  says  the  students  cook  most  of 
their  meals  in  their  rooms  on  their  gas  stoves.  I  wish 
I  had  one. 

Nov.  13.  A  bad  lot  of  a  date!  No  work  yet,  and 
I  Ve  tramped  all  day  in  the  slush  and  snow.  I  dried 
my  things  down  in  Mrs.  T.'s  room.  I  did  n't  dare  to 
spend  any  more  in  car  fares,  for  I  must  have  a  stove. 

I  know  to  a  cent  just  what  I  Ve  spent  since  I  came, 
but  I  'm  going  to  put  it  down  so  I  can  see  the  figures; 
it  will  make  me  more  cautious  about  spending.  The 
car  fare  is  more  than  I  meant  it  should  be,  but,  to 
save  it,  I  walked  the  first  three  days  from  Eighty-sixth 
Street  and  Fourth  Avenue  • —  a  bakery  that  adver 
tised  for  a  woman  to  sell  the  early  morning  bread  in 
the  shop;  three  hours  of  work  only,  at  twenty  cents 
an  hour  —  down  as  far  as  the  Washington  Market 
where  they  wanted  a  girl  to  sell  flowers  in  a  sidewalk 
booth,  for  two  weeks  before  Christmas.  I  found  then 
that  the  soles  of  my  boots  were  beginning  to  wear  and 
that  it  saves  something:  to  ride. 


Car  fare 

Bread 

Cheese 

i  tin  pail 

6  eggs     

1  can  baked  beans 

2  pints  soup 

Oil 

Tin  lamp 

Cot  and  mattress 

Room  rent,  two  weeks  in  advance 


$  -75 
•25 
.  10 

•IS 

.20 

•17 
.26 

•13 

•5° 

4-OO 

3.00 


Total $9.51 


40  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

And  I  have  ten  dollars  and  ninety-three  cents  left. 
I  can  hold  the  fort  another  two  weeks  on  this. 

Nov.  15.  No  work  yet.  I  'm  going  to  keep  a  stiff 
upper  lip  and  find  work,  or  starve  in  doing  it.  This 
city  shan't  beat  me,  not  if  I  can  use  my  two  arms  and 
hands  and  legs,  two  eyes,  one  tongue  and  a  brain! 
No! 

Nov.  17.  I  scrubbed  down  the  three  flights  of  stairs 
for  Mrs.  T.  to-day.  She  has  the  rheumatism  in  her 
wrists,  and  I  was  glad  to  do  it  for  her  to  help  pay  for 
her  loan  of  the  pillows  and  for  letting  me  heat  my 
things  on  her  stove.  I  must  buy  my  own  to 
morrow.  I  feel  ashamed  to  ask  favors  of  her  any 
longer,  for  I  have  put  off  the  buying  of  it  till  I  could 
get  work. 

Friday.  Now  I  have  just  four  dollars  left;  for  I 
bought  it  to-day  and  set  it  up  myself.  A  little  second 
hand  one  with  one  hole  on  top  —  and  no  coals  to  put 
in  it!  I  don't  dare  use  the  last  four  dollars,  for  the  rent 
is  due  soon  and  I  have  to  pay  in  advance.  I  suppose 
it 's  all  right  to  secure  herself,  but  it 's  hard  on  me. 

Nov.  30.  I  believe  I  'm  hungry,  and  I  don't  re 
member  to  have  been  hungry  before  in  all  my  life, 
without  having  enough  ready  to  fill  my  stomach. 
But  I  don't  dare  to  spend  another  cent  till  I  get  work. 
It  must  come,  it  must  - 

I  've  lived  three  days  on  a  half  a  pound  of  walnuts, 
half  a  pound  of  cheese  and  a  loaf  of  bread  —  and 
walked  my  feet  sore  looking  for  a  place.  I  know  I 
could  have  had  two  places,  but  I  dared  not  engage  to 
the  women.  That  woman  in  the  Grand  Central  Sta 
tion  haunts  me;  these  two  women  had  a  look  of  her! 
One  wanted  me  in  private  manicure  rooms  to  learn  the 
trade;  she  said  I  had  the  right  kind  of  fingers  after 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  41 

the  rough  had  worn  off.  The  other  wanted  me  to 
show  rooms  to  rent  in  a  queer  looking  house.  Mrs.  T. 
told  me  to  keep  away  from  it  and  all  like  it. 

Dec.  i.  I  'm  not  only  hungry,  I  'm  cold  too.  I 
bought  two  pails  of  coals,  and  paid  high  for  them  so 
Mrs.  T.  says.  They  say  there  is  going  to  be  a  coal 
famine  from  the  great  strike.  It  makes  me  mad  that 
it  should  all  pile  up  on  me  in  this  way!  Why  can't 
I  have  work?  Why,  when  I  am  willing,  can't  I  find 
a  place? 

An  awful  feeling  comes  over  me  sometimes,  when  I 
am  turned  down  at  a  place  I  've  applied  for:  I  want 
to  throttle  the  first  well-dressed  man  or  woman  I 
meet  and  say,  "  Give  me  work  or  I  '11  make  it  the 
worse  for  you!  "  Then  I  turn  all  dizzy  and  sick  after 
that  feeling,  and  hate  myself  for  the  thought;  it 's 
so  unjust. 

Dec.  10.  I  asked  Mrs.  T.  if  I  might  n't  pay  by  the 
week  and  at  the  end  of  each  week.  I  think  she  knew 
what  the  trouble  was.  She  hesitated  for  a  minute, 
and  that  was  enough  for  me. 

"  Oh,  I  can  pay  you,"  I  said,  "  only  it 's  a  little  more 
convenient." 

"  Then  I  'd  like  you  to,"  she  said  in  her  queer  dry 
voice. 

I  hated  her  at  that  moment.  I  went  up  stairs  to 
my  bare  room  and  took  off  the  knit  woollen  petticoat 
I  made  for  myself  at  home,  just  before  coming 
down;  I  took  that  and  a  set  of  gold  beads,  that  were 
my  grandmother's,  and  went  out  with  them  to  a 
pawnbroker's  just  around  the  corner  on  the  avenue. 
I  got  eight  dollars  for  the  two  of  them,  and  made  the 
time  in  which  to  redeem  them  one  month.  Then  I 
went  back  to  the  house  and  paid  her.  She  looked  sur- 


42  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

prised,  but  her  skinny  hand  closed  upon  the  money 
as  if  she,  too,  had  no  more  for  the  morrow.  I  don't 
know  that  she  has.  The  students  come  and  go. 

Dec.  14.  I  stood  on  Twentieth  Street  near  Broad 
way  to-day,  watching  the  teamsters  unload  the  heavy 
drays  at  the  back  of  a  department  store.  I  found 
myself  envying  them  —  they  had  work. 

Dec.  15.  I  am  not  up  to  date  with  my  clothes,  and 
I  have  no  money  to  make  myself  so.  I  find  it  is  for 
this  reason  I  am  "  turned  down  "  at  so  many  places 
where  I  apply.  I  read  it  in  men's  eyes,  in  the  women's 
hard  stare. 

Dec.  17.  A  man  offered  to  clothe  me  for  a  position 
in  a  shop,  if  I  would  - 

I  know  I  looked  at  him;  I  think  I  saw  him,  or  per 
haps  the  beast  that  was  in  him.  Then  I  saw  queer 
lights  before  me,  red  and  yellow  —  if  I  had  been  a 
man  I  would  have  taken  him  by  the  throat.  When, 
at  last,  I  could  see  again,  the  man  was  gone.  Good 
riddance !  There  is  such  a  thing  as  day  nightmare. 

Dec.  19.  I  am  beginning  to  understand  how  it  is 
done;  how  the  fifteen  dollar  waists,  the  diamond 
rings,  the  theatre,  and  the  suppers  after,  can  be  had 
without  work. 

Dec.  20.  The  strike  is  on.  I  should  have  to  do 
without  coals,  strike  or  no  strike,  for  I  have  nothing  to 
buy  them  with.  Mrs.  Turtelot  offered  to  let  me  heat 
my  food  on  her  stove  —  my  food !  I  Ve  lived  on  one 
loaf  of  bread  and  a  can  of  baked  beans  for  seven  days 
—  and  to-day  I  Ve  been  down  to  the  Washington 
Market  just  to  smell  the  evergreens  that,  for  all  I 
have  no  home,  give  me  a  homesick  longing  for  the 
country.  But  I  will  not  go  back;  I  '11  starve  here 
first. 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  43 

Afterwards  I  walked  up  to  Twenty-third  Street, 
and  lost  myself  there  in  the  holiday  crowds.  What 
throngs!- — jostled,  pushed,  beset  by  vendors,  loaded 
with  bundles,  yet  so  good  natured!  No  one  looked 
hungry.  I  stood  on  the  kerb  to  watch  the  men  selling 
toys  and  birds;  to  listen  to  the  strange  cries,  the 
shrilling  of  the  wooden  canaries  and  the  trill  of  the 
real  ones;  to  peep  into  the  rabbit  hutch,  and  the  bas 
ket  of  kittens;  to  stroke  an  armful  of  sleeping  pup 
pies;  to  smell  the  fragrance  of  roses  and  violets  and 
carnations;  to  smile  a  little  at  the  slow-moving 
turtles,  the  leaping  frogs,  the  Jack-in-the-box,  the 
mechanical  toys  of  all  kinds  that  performed  on  the 
sidewalk,  each  the  centre  of  a  small  crowd.  Then,  at 
twilight,  the  flare  from  the  chestnut  vendor's  stand, 
the  little  electric  lights  of  the  Punch  and  Judy  side 
walk  show,  the  electric  torches  that  the  children  were 
carrying,  the  brilliant  whirligigs  for  advertisements, 
gave  to  the  whole  scene  a  strange  unreal  appearance. 
Men,  women,  children,  Christmas  trees,  dogs,  birds, 
electric  cars,  rabbits,  kittens,  a  goat,  cabs,  automo 
biles,  express  carts,  surged  into  the  flare  and  glare,  first 
of  one  light  then  of  another,  till  what  was  shadow  and 
what  was  substance  I  failed  to  make  out. 

Dec.  21.  At  last,  oh,  at  last,  there  is  work  for  me, 
—for  me,  too,  among  all  these  millions !  But  it  makes 
me  sick  to  know  there  must  be  some  who  are  trying 
and  never  find. 

I  have  taken  a  place  in  a  small  writing-paper  fac 
tory.  It 's  down  near  Barclay  Street,  in  the  loft  of  a 
crazy  old  building,  three  wooden  flights  from  the 
street.  The  loft  is  lighted  at  both  ends  by  windows 
and  in  the  top  by  skylights.  It  is  heated  by  a  large 
cylinder  stove  in  the  centre,  and  a  small  glue  box-pot 


44  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

at  one  end.  The  air  is  close,  but  I  don't  care  much,  for 
it  is  so  warm.  I  get  four  dollars  a  week. 

I  can  manage  to  live,  at  least,  on  this.  I  can  think 
about  nothing  else  to-night. 

Jan.  15,  1903.  The  coal  strike  is  on.  It  is  cold  in 
the  loft,  for  we  have  to  be  saving  of  fuel.  It  takes  all 
I  can  save  to  buy  three  pailfuls  of  coal  a  week  for  my 
little  stove.  I, kindle  my  fire  at  night,  heat  water, 
cook  my  cereal,  or  bean  soup,  and  am  comfortable 
till  morning;  the  room  is  decently  warm  to 
dress  in.  I  am  off  to  work  at  seven.  Fuel  and  rent 
and  some  necessary  underclothes  leave  little  for  food. 
I  cannot  redeem  my  petticoat,  and  gold  beads  which 
my  grandmother  had  from  her  mother,  Marcia 
Farrell. 

July  6.  Hot,  hotter,  hottest  in  the  old  fire-trap  of 
a  loft.  The  sun  beats  down  through  the  skylights  till 
we  get  sick.  Two  of  the  girls  fainted  this  afternoon. 

Aug.  4.  I  discovered  the  Public  Library  to-day! 
It  means  so  much  to  me  that  I  simply  can't  write  a 
word  about  it. 

Nov.  4.  Just  a  year  ago  to-day  since  I  came  here. 
I  am  able  to  draw  a  free  breath  for  the  first  time,  to 
look  about  me  and  plan  a  little  for  my  future.  I  've 
made  up  my  mind  to  study  for  the  examinations  for  a 
place  in  the  Public  Library.  My  district  school  was 
no  bad  training,  after  all,  for  this  work.  It  taught  me 
one  lesson:  to  put  my  mind  on  what  was  given  me  to 
do  —  and  I  have  not  forgotten  it. 

The  extra  time  for  study  at  night  will  take  more  fuel 
and  oil,  but  I  can  make  that  up  by  living  a  few  more 
days  every  week  on  bean  soup.  I  Ve  made  living  on 
four  dollars  a  week  an  art  this  last  year.  An  art?  Yes, 
rather  than  a  science;  and,  like  an  art,  it  accomplishes 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  45 

surprisingly  satisfactory  results  —  results  that  science, 
with  all  its  proven  facts,  from  .which  it  deduces  laws 
of  hygiene,  fails  to  produce. 

I  honestly  believe  that  I  'm  better  fed  than  half  the 
theological  students.  They  scrimp  and  save  —  for  a 
theatre  ticket!  They 're  a  queer  lot!  I  Ve  asked  half 
a  dozen  to  tell  me  what  they  're  aiming  at,  and  not 
one  of  the  six  could  give  me  a  sensible  answer.  If  they 
had  said  right  out — "  It 's  an  easy  way  to  get  a  small 
living,"  I  would  have  respect  for  them.  We  all  have 
to  earn  our  living  in  one  way  or  another. 

March,  1904.  Desk  assistant  in  a  branch  of  the 
Library  — at  last! 

October,  1906.  When  I  came  down  here  I  made  a 
vow  to  put  everything  behind  me;  forget  what  I  had 
left  in  New  England,  the  memories  of  those  hard- 
worked  years,  and  start  afresh;  cut  loose  from  all  the 
old  associations.  I  have  succeeded  fairly  well.  This 
new  life  of  books  is  a  wonderful  one.  I  like  my  work 
as  desk  assistant  in  the  Library,  and  I  get  nine  dollars 
a  week.  This  is  wealth  for  me;  I  am  saving.  I  have 
so  much  besides :  the  river  and  the  ferries  for  a  change ; 
one  trip  up  the  Hudson  —  a  thing  to  live  on  for  years 
until  I  get  another.  Sometime  I  mean  to  travel  — 
sometime!  Meanwhile,  I  go  on  saving  in  every  pos 
sible  way. 

Jan.  8,  1907.  What  luck  for  me!  I  don't  have  to 
buy  a  book.  The  whole  Library  is  mine  for  the  ask 
ing.  How  I  have  read  these  last  three  years!  As  if 
I  could  never  read  enough;  read  while  I  Ve  been 
standing  and  eating;  read  before  getting  up  and  long 
after  I  have  been  in  bed.  It  has  been  a  hunger  and 
thirst  for  this  kind  of  food  —  and  there  has  been 
enough  of  this!  Enough! 


46  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

Feb.  1908.  I  am  studying  French  now  daily,  and 
beginning  Latin  by  myself,  for  I  want  to  take  the 
higher  examinations  for  the  cataloguing  department. 
That  will  mean  more  pay  and  the  prospect  of  a  vaca 
tion  sometime. 

March  16,  1908.  How  I  gloat  like  a  miser  over  my 
savings-bank  book!  Just  one  hundred  and  seventy- 
five  dollars  to  my  credit.  I  have  visions  of  —  oh,  so 
much  in  ten  years! 

May,  1908.  I  was  at  the  Metropolitan  this  morn 
ing.  I  feel  rich  when  I  realize  that  all  this  treasure- 
house  is  open  to  me  —  is  mine  for  the  entering.  I  am 
taking  the  whole  museum,  room  by  room.  A  year's 
work  on  Sundays. 

August,  1908.  I  have  not  seen  fit  to  change  my 
method  of  expenditure  since  I  entered  the  Library; 
I  have  continued  to  spend  as  I  spent  when  I  had  four 
dollars  a  week,  with  the  exception  that  I  allow,  neces 
sarily,  a  little  more  for  clothing. 

For  housing :  — 

Room,  $1.50  a  week. 

Fuel  and  oil  in  winter,  $  0.75 

Oil  in  summer,  .26 

Now  for  my  art:  - 

I  have  allowed  for  my  food  exactly  one  dollar  a  week 
and  allow  the  same  now.  I  go  down  to  the  Washing 
ton  Market  early  in  the  morning.  I  revel  in  the  sight 
of  the  fresh  vegetables,  of  the  flowers  and  fruits.  The 
market-people  know  me  now,  and  many  a  gift-flower 
I  have  brought  back  with  me  to  my  room,  and  several 
times  a  pot  of  herbs  or  spring  bulbs ;  now  and  then  a 
few  sprays  of  parsley  or  thyme.  These  I  look  upon  as 
my  commission!  Without  leaving  the  market,  I  buy 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  47 

a  loaf  of  bread  for  ten  cents;  a  knuckle  of  veal,  or  a 
beef  bone,  a  pound  and  a  half  of  sausages,  or  a  pound 
of  salt  pork,  for  fifteen  cents;  I  vary  my  purchases 
from  time  to  time  that  I  may  have  variety.  Ten  cents 
for  vegetables  —  I  vary  these,  also,  as  much  as  possible; 
these,  with  a  pound  of  rice,  nine  cents,  a  half  a  pound 
of  butter,  eighteen  cents,  and  a  quart  of  beans  for  an 
other  ten  cents,  give  me  satisfying  combinations. 
When  eggs  are  cheap  I  vary  this  diet  with  them,  let 
tuce  and  bacon.  I  buy  things  that  are  cheapest  in 
their  season.  In  summer,  I  drop  out  all  meat  and  sub 
stitute  milk.  I  allow  myself  one  pound  of  sugar  a 
week;  no  tea,  no  coffee;  the  city  water  is  the  only 
thing  of  which  I  can  have  enough  free.  With  what  is 
left  of  my  hundred  cents,  —  for  in  my  art  it  is  the  cents 
with  which  I  reckon,  not  dollars,  —  I  buy  fruit  in  its 
season,  a  bit  of  cheese,  sometimes  even  a  Philadelphia 
squab!  At  times,  they  are  cheaper  than  meat  in 
the  Market.  In  the  season  I  can  get  one  for  ten  cents. 

I  have  an  extra  treat  when  I  buy  that  last,  for  the 
old  man  at  the  poultry  stall,  who  draws  the  chickens 
and  various  fowl,  is  a  model  from  the  old  Italian  mas 
ters.  An  Italian  himself,  he  speaks  little  English, 
wears  a  skull  cap  and,  to  my  delight,  looks  like  one 
of  Fra  Angelico's  saints.  I  learn  all  this  from  the 
Metropolitan  Museum,  and  apply  it  in  the  Washing 
ton  Market! 

At  times  I  haunt  the  fish  stalls,  select  good  sea  food 
for  a  change,  and  am  rewarded  by  the  play  of  color 
on  the  zinc  counters  —  the  mottled  green  of  live 
lobsters,  the  scarlet  of  boiled  ones,  the  silver  and  rose 
of  pompano,  the  pomegranate  of  salmon.  I  have 
stood  by  the  half  hour  to  watch  the  slow-moving 
turtles,  the  scuttling  crabs  in  the  tanks.  I  have  good 


48  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

friends  throughout  the  Market  —  men  and  women. 
They  confide  in  me  at  times,  like  the  cod-and-hake 
man,  dealer  in  dried  fish,  who  told  me  he  had  "  a  girl 
once  down  on  Cape  Cod  ".  He  seemed  relieved  by 
this  confession.  He  was  serving  me  at  the  time,  and 
his  two  hundred  or  more  pounds,  his  red  face  and  his 
cordiality  were  delightful.  My  butter-egg-and-cheese 
man  also  confides  to  me  that  he  is  a  commuter; 
has  purchased  a  home  on  the  instalment  plan;  has 
three  children,  and  his  wife  runs  a  private  laundry. 

What  remains  of  the  four  dollars  after  the  weekly 
bills  are  paid,  I  lay  aside  for  clothes.  I  make  my  own 
shirt  waists.  It  took  me  eleven  months  to  earn  a  good 
skirt  of  brown  Panama  cloth;  but  it  has  lasted  me 
four  years. 

I  think  I  live  well,  considering;  but,  in  living  thus, 
there  is  no  denying  I  cross  the  bridge  of  mere  suste 
nance  every  day,  and  am  obliged  to  burn  my  bridge 
behind  me!  I  don't  like  it  —  but  am  thankful  for 
work.  I  'm  not  beneath  adding  to  my  reserve  fund 
five  cents  at  a  time. 

Dec.  1 8,  1908.  They  're  nice  boys,  the  theological 
students  —  but  queer,  some  of  them.  I  Ve  watched 
different  sets  of  them  come  and  go  during  these  six 
years.  Two  or  three  have  attempted  to  make  a  little 
love  to  me ;  a  few  have  adopted  me  —  so  they  said  — 
for  their  sister.  I  'm  forgotten  with  their  graduation 
and  their  flitting!  One  or  two  are  really  friends; 
they  're  younger  than  I,  of  course,  and  I  can  patronize 
and  quiz  them. 

Johnny  is  my  favorite.  There  is  little  theological 
nonsense  about  him,  and  there  is  an  inquisitive  dis 
position  to  see  New  York  and  make  the  most  of  his 
time  here.  He  's  from  the  north  part  of  the  state;  likes 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  49 

books,  likes  people,  likes  a  good  time,  whenever  he  can 
get  it,  on  his  limited  income  to  which  he  adds  by  help 
ing  the  basement  barber  two  days  in  the  week,  can 
vassing  for  books  in  the  summer,  and  on  Saturdays 
waiting  on  the  patrons  of  a  book  stall  in  a  corridor  of 
one  of  the  big  hotels. 

Taken  altogether,  Johnny  is  a  man  who  has  not  as 
yet  found  his  calling,  although  he  is  anchored  for  the 
present,  through  affection  for  his  father,  to  "  Chelsea  " 
and  a  career  that,  at  times,  irks  him.  We  Ve  had 
many  a  good  talk  about  this  matter.  I  tell  him  he  's 
not  dragging  anchor,  but  weighing  it. 

I  like  to  see  New  York  through  Johnny's  eyes  — 
Adirondack  eyes,  keen,  honest,  and  blue;  they  take 
in  all  the  metropolitan  sights,  from  the  Hippodrome, 
to  the  Bowery  vaudevilles  and  the  Cathedral  of 
St.  John. 

It 's  fun  to  "  do  "  the  city  with  him,  with  no  ex 
pense  except  car  fares. 

Jan.  1909.  Johnny  and  I  stood  outside  the 
Metropolitan  Opera  House  this  evening,  to  see  the 
hodge-podge  of  carriages  and  automobiles  arrive  with 
their  contents:  the  women  who  toil  not,  neither  do 
they  spin  anything  except  financial  webs  for  men's 
undoing.  It  was  a  queer  sight !  Hundreds  of  women 
passed  me.  As  I  looked  at  them,  I  saw  the  same  long, 
pointed,  manicured  nails,  the  same  jewelled  fingers, 
the  incurving  fronts,  the  distorted  busts,  the  lined 
and  rouged  faces  —  like  those  I  loathed  so  when  I 
first  came  to  this  city.  I  asked  myself,  "  What 's 
the  difference  between  the  two  kinds?  Is  it  money 
alone  that  makes  it?  " 

"  But  are  there  two  kinds?  "  I  was  asking  myself 
again,  when  Johnny,  who  has  an  eye  for  good  clothes 


50  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

on  man  and  woman,  called  my  attention  to  a  woman's 
opera  cloak.  It  was  worth  a  man's  ransom.  From  a 
deep  yoke  of  Russian  sable  depended  the  long  cape 
of  pale  green  satin  covered  with  graduated  flounces, 
from  eight  to  fourteen  inches  deep,  of  Venetian  point. 
And  taking  in  all  this,  I  saw  - 

Well,  I  don't  know  that  I  dare  to  set  down  in  words, 
even  for  my  own  enlightenment,  what  I  saw  in  that 
Vision.  But,  suddenly,  all  the  rich  robings,  opera 
cloaks,  clinging  gowns  of  silk,  velvet  and  chiffon,  the 
diamond  tiaras,  the  jewelled  necklaces,  the  French 
lingerie  even  —  all  dropped  from  every  one  in  that 
procession;  and  there,  on  a  New  York  sidewalk,  in  the 
harsh  glare  of  electric  lights,  amidst  the  hiss  and 
cranking  of  their  automobiles,  the  clank  of  silver- 
mounted  harness  and  the  champing  of  bits,  the  shouts 
and  calls  and  myriad  city  noises,  I  saw  them  for  what 
they  really  are:  —  women,  like  unto  all  other  women; 
women  made  originally  for  the  mates  of  men,  for 
mothers,  for  burden-bearers,  with  prehensile  hands 
to  grasp,  then  lead  and  uplift,  and  so  aid  in  the  work 
of  the  world. 

And  what  more  I  saw  in  the  Vision  I  may  scarcely 
write  down;  for,  therein,  I  was  shown  for  these  same 
women  both  unfathomable  depths  and  scarce  attain 
able  heights,  both  degradation  and  transfiguration, 
the  human  bestial  and  the  humanly  divine  —  the 
Vampire,  the  Angel. 

And  I  was  shown  in  that  Vision  the  Calvaries  of 
maternity  common  to  all,  whether  the  conception  be 
immaculate,  so-called  if  within  the  law,  or  maculate, 
so-called  if  without  the  law.  I  saw,  also,  the  Geth- 
semanes  of  motherhood  common  to  all.  I  saw,  more 
over,  the  three  Dolorous  Ways  which  their  feet  —  and 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  51 

the  feet  of  all  women,  because  women  —  are  treading, 
have  ever  trod,  must  ever  tread,  that  the  seed  which 
shall  propagate  the  Race  may  be  trodden  deep  for 
germination. 

Moreover,  I  saw  in  that  Vision  the  women  treading 
the  seed  in  the  Ways.  One  of  the  Ways  was  stony,  and 
those  therein  walked  with  bleeding  feet  for  their  labor 
was  in  vain;  the  land  was  sterile.  And  the  second 
was  deeply  rutted  with  sand,  and  those  therein  labored 
heavily  with  sweat  and  toil;  the  fruition  was  but 
for  a  day.  And  the  third  Way  was  heavy  with  deeply- 
furrowed  fertile  soil,  and  those  that  trod  it  toiled  long 
and  late  that  the  seed  might  not  fail  of  abundant  har 
vest. 

Furthermore,  I  saw  that  every  woman  was  treading 
one  of  these  three  Ways;  and  silk,  and  chiffon,  or  vel 
vet  gown,  opera  cloaks  of  sable  and  satin,  diamond 
tiaras  and  jewelled  necklaces  could  avail  them  naught. 
Trammelled  by  these  or  by  rags — it  matters  not  which 
—  they  must  tread  the  Ways. 

I  pressed  my  hand  over  my  eyes  to  clear  them  of 
this  Vision;  for,  at  last,  I  understood.  I  knew  that 
I,  too,  being  a  woman,  must  tread  one  of  the  three 
Dolorous  Ways  even  as  my  mother  had  trodden  one 
before  me.  But  which? 

I  could  bear  it  no  longer.  "  Come  away,  Johnny," 
I  said  abruptly. 

April,  1909.  I  am  beginning  to  be  so  tired  of  the 
confusion  of  the  streets.  The  work  at  the  Li 
brary  has  become  irksome.  I  am  tired  of  reading,  too, 
and  feel  as  if  my  last  prop  had  been  taken  from  under 
me,  when  I  have  no  longer  the  desire  to  read. 

I  handle  the  books,  place  them,  record  dates,  handle 
books  again,  place  them,  record  dates,  handle  books 


52  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

again  —  the  very  smell  of  the  booky  atmosphere  is 
sickening  to  me. 

I  suppose  I  need  rest.  But  how  can  I  rest  when  I 
have  my  daily  living  to  earn?  I  won't  touch  those 
hundred  and  seventy-five  dollars  if  I  never  have  a 
vacation.  I  should  lose  all  my  courage  if  I  had  to 
spend  a  dollar  of  that  money,  except  for  the  final  end 
—  nine  years  hence.  Even  the  thought  of  stopping 
work  makes  me  feel  weary. 

July  i.  So  the  money  is  gone!  I  have  been  trying 
to  face  this  fact  the  last  hour.  The  long  sickness  of 
ten  weeks  has  taken  it  all,  for  I  was  too  proud  to 
go  to  the  hospital  without  paying  my  way.  I  let  no 
one  know  how  matters  stood  with  me.  I  have  come 
out  of  St.  Luke's  feeling  so  weak,  so  indifferent  to  life, 
to  everything  I  thought  made  my  own  small  life  worth 
living. — And  it  is  so  hot  here!  So  breathless!  A 
great  longing  has  come  upon  me  to  get  away  some 
where.  Since  I  have  been  so  sick  things  look  different 
to  me.  The  energy  of  life  seems  to  have  gone  out  of 
me,  and  I  want  to  creep  away  into  some  place  far, 
far  away  from  this  city,  where  I  can  live  a  more  normal 
life. 

But  how  can  I  make  the  break?  Where  can  I  go? 
How  begin  all  over  again  in  this  awful  struggle  to  get 
work,  and  succeed  in  anything?  My  courage  has 
failed  me. 

I  closed  the  books.  I  was  wondering  if  I  should 
destroy  them  and  in  this  fashion  burn  all  my  bridges 
behind  me. 

"  No,"  I  spoke  aloud;  "  I  '11  save  them,  but  I  will 
never  keep  another  journal." 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  53 

I  opened  to  a  blank  page,  took  pen  and  ink  and 
wrote  on  it: 

September  i8th,  1909.  I  have  decided  to  accept 
a  place  at  service  (at  last!)  on  a  farm  in  Canada, 
Province  of  Quebec,  Seigniory  of  Lamoral  (?).  Wages 
twenty-five  dollars  a  month,  besides  room  and  board. 

And  underneath: 

12  midnight.  My  last  word  in  this  book.  Within 
the  past  six  hours  I  have  experienced  something  of 
what  I  call  "  heaven  and  hell  ".  I  have  travelled  a 
long  road  since  I  came  to  this  city  on  November  4, 
1902. 


V 


A  FEW  evenings  afterwards  Delia  Beaseley  came 
up  to  see  me.  She  brought  the  passage  money 
and  a  note  of  instruction.  It  was  directly  to 
the  point:  I  was  to  take  a  sleeping  car  on  the  Montreal 
express;  then  the  day  local  boat  down  the  St.  Law 
rence  to  Richelieu-en-Bas.  At  the  landing  I  was  to 
enquire  for  Mrs.  Macleod,  and  someone  would  be 
there  to  meet  me.  A  time-table  was  enclosed.  The 
note  was  signed  "  Janet  Macleod  ". 

"  This  must  be  the  '  elderly  Scotchwoman/  Delia," 
I  said  after  reading  the  note  twice. 

"  I  'm  thinking  it 's  her  —  but  then  you  never  can 
tell." 

"  How  did  she  send  the  passage  money?  " 

"  By  post  office  order.  It  would  n't  have  hurt  her 
to  send  a  bit  of  a  welcome  word,  to  my  thinking." 
She  spoke  rather  grimly. 

"  I  'm  not  going  for  the  welcome,  you  know;  it  's 
work  and  a  change  I  want  —  and  right  thankful  I  am 
to  get  the  chance." 

"  Well  you  may  be,  my  dear,  in  these  times,"  she 
said,  softening  at  once. 

"  I  shall  write  you,  Delia,  all  about  everything; 
you  know  you  want  to  hear  all  about  things." 

"  Would  I  own  to  being  a  woman  if  I  did  n't?  "  She 
laughed  her  hearty  laugh ;  then,  with  a  little  hesitancy : 
"  And,  my  dear,  I  'd  think  kindly  of  you  for  writing 
me,  and  I  'd  like  to  know  that  all  is  going  well  with 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  55 

you,  but  you  know  there 's  Doctor  Rugvie  to 
reckon  with,  and  he  won't  hold  to  much  correspond 
ence,  I  'm  thinking,  between  me  and  —  what 's  the 
name  of  that  place?  I  can't  pronounce  it  — 

"  Richelieu-en-Bas." 

"  Rich — •  I  can't  get  the  twist  of  it  round  my  Eng 
lish  tongue;  say  it  again,  and  may  be  I  '11  catch  it." 

I  repeated  it  twice  for  her,  but  her  results  were  not 
equal  to  her  efforts.  We  both  laughed. 

"  Never  mind,  Delia;  and  don't  tell  me  Doctor 
Rugvie  is  going  to  say  to  whom  I  shall  write  or  to 
whom  I  shan't  —  especially  if  it 's  my  friend,  Delia 
Beaseley." 

"  Well,  I  can't  say,  my  dear;  but  I  '11  speak  to  him 
about  it  when  he  gets  home  — 

"  Now,  no  nonsense  from  a  sensible  woman,  Delia 
Beaseley;  I  should  think  I  was  going  into  a  land  of 
mysteries  to  hear  you  talk." 

She  laughed  again.  "  I  don't  say  as  it's  a  mystery, 
but  I  can't  help  thinking  he  wants  to  keep  the  matter 
quiet  like,  you  see." 

"  But  I  don't  see  —  and  I  don't  intend  to,"  I  said 
obstinately. 

Delia  changed  the  subject.  "  It 's  well  you  Ve  got 
your  passage  money.  It 's  quite  dear  travelling  that 
way." 

"  Never  was  in  a  Pullman  in  my  life,  Delia,  but  you 
may  believe  I  shall  enjoy  it." 

She  beamed  on  me.  "  That 's  right,  my  dear,  take 
all  the  pleasure  you  can,  and,  of  course,  if  Doctor 
Rugvie  did  n't  mind  —  well,  I  must  own  up  to  it  that 
I  'd  like  to  hear  from  you,  and  what  you  make  of  it 
up  there." 

"  So  you  shall,  Delia;  no  secrets  between  you  and 


56  A  Cry  in  'the  Wilderness 

me;  there  can't  be;  we  've  known  each  other  too 
long  —  ever  since  I  was  born  into  the  world." 

She  looked  a  little  mystified  at  my  statement,  but 
accepted  it  evidently  with  appreciation. 

"  Jane  or  me  '11  be  down  to  the  station  to  see  you 
off,"  she  said  as  she  bade  me  good  night. 

During  the  next  two  weeks  and  at  odd  times,  I  did 
a  good  bit  of  reference  work  on  my  own  account  in 
looking  up  the  histories  of  the  Canadian  "  Seignio 
ries  ";  but  at  the  end  of  that  time  I  was  ready  to  set 
out  for  that  other  country  only  a  little  wiser  for  my 
research. 

A  week  later,  Delia  Beaseley  was  at  the  Grand  Cen 
tral  to  see  me  start  on  my  journey  northwards. 

"  I  feel  as  if  I  were  setting  out  on  a  real  series  of 
adventures,  Delia!  "  I  exclaimed  when  I  met  her.  I 
took  both  her  hands  in  mine.  "  If  only  I  were  a  man 
I  should  take  stick  and  knapsack  and  find  my  way  on 
foot.  I  'd  camp  on  the  shore  of  the  Tappan  Zee, 
wander  through  the  Catskills,  and  stop  over  night  at 
the  old  Dutch  farmhouses,  follow  the  shores  of  Lake 
Champlain  and  cross  the  border  high  of  heart,  even  if 
footweary!  " 

Delia  smiled  indulgently  upon  me. 

"  Such  fancies  will  help  you  out  a  good  bit,  my  dear; 
it 's  well  you  have  a  word  or  two  of  French  to  get  along 
with.  I  used  to  hear  it  when  I  was  a  girl  in  Cape 
Breton." 

I  caught  the  shadow  of  a  memory  settle  in  her  eyes. 
We  were  at  the  gate.  The  train  was  made  up. 

"  I  must  say  goodby  here,  my  dear;  they  won't 
let  me  in  to  the  train." 

I  took  both  her  hands  again.  "  Goodby,  Delia 
Beaseley,"  I  began;  then  something  choked  me.  I 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  57 

so  wanted  to  thank  her  for  all  her  goodness  to  me.  "  I 
wish  I  knew  what  to  say  —  how  to  thank  — 

"  There,  there,  my  dear,  I  'm  the  one  to  be  thank 
ful.  I  've  been  reaping  a  harvest  just  from  one  little 
seed  I  sowed  near  twenty-six  years  ago  —  and  I 
never  thought  to  see  so  much  as  a  blade  of  grass! 
That 's  all.  I  'm  wonderful  grateful  it  's  been  given 
me  to  see  such  a  harvest." 

"  Oh,  Delia,  if  I  only  amounted  to  something,  so 
that  you  could  be  proud  of  your  little  harvest  — 

"Now,  don't,  my  dear,  don't;  don't  say  nothing 
more,  but  just  go  straight  forward  with  God's  blessing, 
which  is  the  same  as  mine  this  time,  and  —  don't  for 
get  me  if  ever  you  need  a  friend." 

My  eyes  filled  with  unaccustomed  tears.  A  curious 
thought:  New  York,  the  Juggernaut,  the  fetich  of 
millions,  just  when  I  was  ridding  myself  of  the  horror 
of  its  awful  presence,  was  about  to  bind  me  to  it 
through  this  new-old  friend! 

I  caught  her  rough  toil-worn  hand  in  both  mine 
and  pressed  my  lips  to  it;  then  I  dropped  it,  and 
walked  rapidly  down  the  platform  to  the  train.  Not 
once  did  I  look  behind  me. 

For  a  little  while  after  entering  the  luxurious  sleep 
ing  car,  I  felt  awkward,  uncomfortable;  I  had  never 
been  in  one  before.  But  when  I  was  settled  in  my 
ample,  high-backed  section,  and  the  train  began  to 
move  slowly  out  of  the  station  and  through  the  tun 
nel,  I  felt  more  at  ease.  After  that,  with  every  mile 
that  the  train,  moving  more  and  more  swiftly,  put 
between  me  and  the  city's  sights  and  sounds,  I  felt  a 
rising  of  spirits,  an  ease  of  mind  and  body  I  had  never 
before  experienced. 


58  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

Within  an  hour  all  depression  had  vanished;  hopes 
and  anticipations  for  the  new  environment  filled  the 
foreground  of  my  thoughts.  Without  adequate  rea 
son,  I  believed  that  the  change  I  was  making  was  for 
my  good;  that  with  new  faces  about  me,  with  new 
and  closer  interests  which,  alone  as  I  was  in  the  world, 
I  must  substitute  for  a  home,  I  was  about  to  escape 
from  all  former  associations  and  the  memories  they 
fostered. 

Only  one  thought  troubled  me,  that  was  the 
connection  by  Delia  Beaseley  of  Doctor  Rugvie's 
name  with  that  of  George  Jackson  —  my  mother's 
husband.  I  had  hoped  never  to  hear  that  name 
again. 

For  an  hour  I  peered  at  the  dark  Hudson,  the  shad 
owed  hills;  the  night  fell,  blotting  out  the  landscape 
wholly  and  shutting  me  into  the  warm  brilliantly 
lighted  car  with  a  sense  of  cosy  security. 

I  looked  at  the  few  people  I  could  see  over  the  high 
sections.  Three  women  were  opposite  to  me,  two  of 
them  young.  I  found  myself  calculating  the  cost  of 
their  dresses  and  accessories,  their  furs  and  hats.  I 
reckoned  the  amount  to  be  something  like  my  wages 
on  the  farm  for  six  years.  How  easily  and  uncon 
sciously  they  wore  their  good  clothes !  One  of  the  two 
younger  held  my  attention.  She  was  fair,  slender, 
long-throated,  and  carried  herself  with  noticeable 
erectness.  I  caught  bits  of  their  conversation  carried 
on  in  low  pleasing  voices: 

"  It  will  be  such  a  surprise  to  them." 

".  .  .  the  C.  P.  steamer  —  " 

"  Oh,  fancy!    They  must  have  known  — 

"...  you  know  I  am  glad  to  be  at  home  this  win 
ter. 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  59 

"  Where  is  it?  .  .  ." 

"  Somewhere  in  Richelieu-en-Bas  — 

I  was  all  ears.  Richelieu-en-Bas  was  my  destina 
tion.  Their  voices  were  so  low  I  could  catch  but  little 
more. 

"  Just  fancy!  But  you  would  never  know  from 
him  —  " 

"  When  is  Mr.  Ewart  coming  over?  " 

"  Bess!  "  The  fair  one  held  up  a  warning  finger; 
"  your  voice  carries  so."  She  rose  and  reached  for 
her  furs  from  the  hook.  "  Let's  go  into  the  forward 
car  and  see  the  Ell  wicks." 

The  others  rose  too;  shook  themselves  out  a  little; 
patted  hair  rolls,  changed  a  hairpin,  took  down  their 
furs  and  left  the  car  —  tall  graceful  women,  all  of 
them. 

Since  my  illness  I  had  squeezed  out  from  my 
earnings  enough  for  the  passage  money,  fourteen 
dollars,  and  eight  besides.  I  did  n't  want  to  be 
gin  by  being  indebted  to  any  one  in  the  Seigniory 
of  Lamoral  for  that  amount;  and  I  did  n't  want  it 
deducted  from  my  first  wages.  I  pleased  myself  with 
the  fancy  that,  soon  after  my  arrival,  I  should  give  the 
money  into  some  one's  hands  with  an  appropriate  word 
or  two,  to  the  effect  that  I  had  chosen  to  pay  my  own 
travelling  expenses.  That  sounded  better  than  pas 
sage  money  which  was  reminiscent  of  the  steerage. 

They  should  understand  that  if  I  were  at  service, 
I  had  a  little  moneyed  independence  of  my  own  — 
the  pitiful  eight  dollars  with  which  to  go  out  into  the 
new  country.  Immigrants  have  come  in  with  less 
than  this  —  nor  been  deported.  Well,  I  ran  no  risk 
of  being  deported  from  Canada. 

I  asked  the  porter  to  make  my  berth  early.    About 


60  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

nine  I  lay  down,  tired  and  worn  out  with  the  excite 
ment  of  the  past  three  weeks.  I  drew  the  curtains 
close  to  shut  out  the  night,  and  lay  there  passively 
content,  listening  to  the  steadily  accented  clankity- 
dank-dank  of  the  Montreal  night  express. 

I  liked  the  sound;  it  soothed  me.  This  swift  on 
rush  into  the  night  towards  Canada,  the  even  motion, 
began  to  rest  the  long  over-strained  nerves.  During 
these  hours,  at  least,  I  was  care  free.  I  slept. 

For  the  first  time  for  months  that  sleep  was  long, 
unbroken,  dreamless.  I  awoke  refreshed,  strength 
ened.  Drawing  the  window  curtains  aside,  I  looked 
out  upon  a  world  newly  bathed  in  the  early  morning 
lights. 

At  the  sight,  my  enthusiasm,  which  I  thought 
quenched  forever  in  the  overwhelming  flood  of  ad 
verse  circumstance,  was  rekindled;  my  imagination 
stimulated.  Dawn  was  breaking  clear  and  golden  be 
hind  the  mountains  across  Lake  Champlain.  Green 
those  mountains  are  in  the  October  sunlight,  green 
and  yellow  and  frost- wrought  crimson;  but  now  they 
loomed  dark  against  the  horizon's  deepening  gold. 
A  few  small  dawn  clouds  of  pure  rose  and  one,  gigan 
tic,  high-piled,  of  smoke  gray,  hung  motionless  above 
the  mist-veiled  waters  of  the  lake. 

I  watched  the  coming  of  this  day  with  charmed 
eyes.  The  sun  rose  clear,  undimmed  over  the  shad 
owed  mountains.  The  lake  mists  felt  its  beams; 
dispersed  suddenly  in  silver  flocculence;  and  the 
path  across  the  blue  waters  was  free  for  the  morning 
glory  that  was  advancing  apace. 


BOOK    TWO 
THE    SEIGNIORY   OF    LAMORAL 


ICHELIEU  ~~  Richelieu-en-Bas." 

The  captain  of  the  local  freight  and  passen- 
ger  boat,  that  had  taken  six  hours  to  make 
its  trip  down  the  St.  Lawrence  from  Montreal,  pointed 
encouragingly  to  the  low  north  bank  of  the  river.  I 
looked  eagerly  in  that  direction. 

"  Richelieu-en-Haut  is  back  there,"  with  a  sweep 
of  his  hand  northwards,  "  six  miles  back  on  the  rail 
road." 

The  little  steamer  was  running,  at  that  moment, 
within  twenty  feet  of  the  low  bank  which,  I  saw  at 
once,  had  been  converted  into  a  meandering  village 
street,  built  up  only  on  one  side.  A  double  row  of 
trees  shaded  both  houses  and  highway.  We  were 
within  confidential  speaking  distance  of  the  few  people 
I  saw  in  the  street,  and  apparently  on  intimate  terms 
with  the  front  rooms  of  the  tiny  houses.  We  sailed 
past  the  market-place  square,  past  the  long  low  inn 
with  double  verandas,  past  the  post  office,  and  drew 
to  the  landing-place  which  the  steamer  saluted. 

This  salute  was  the  signal  for  the  appearance  of 
what  appeared  to  me  the  entire  population  of  the 
place.  There  were  people  under  the  lindens,  people 
at  the  doors  and  open  windows,  people  in  boats  row 
ing  towards  us;  one  man  was  poling  a  scow  in  which 
were  a  cow  and  two  horses.  There  were  men  with 


64  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

handcarts,  boys  with  baskets,  old  women  and  young 
girls,  all  talking,  gesticulating  freely. 

The  handcarts  were  drawn  up  to  the  landing-place; 
the  steamer  was  made  fast  to  an  apology  for  a  mooring- 
post;  the  gangway  heaved  up.  Several  sheep  on  the 
lower  deck  were  run  down  it  by  a  forced  method  of 
locomotion,  their  keepers  hoisting  their  hind  legs,  and 
steering  them  wheelbarrow  fashion  into  the  street 
where  some  children  attempted  to  ride  them.  All 
about  me  I  heard  the  chatter  of  Canadian  French,  not 
a  word  of  which  I  understood. 

A  ponderous  antiquated  private  coach,  into  which 
were  harnessed  two  fine  shaggy-fetlocked  horses,  — 
I  learned  afterwards  these  were  Percherons,  with  sires 
from  Normandy,  —  stood  in  the  street  directly  oppo 
site  the  boat;  a  small  boy  was  holding  their  heads. 
I  wondered  if  that  were  my  "  Seigniory  coach  " ! 

My  trunk  was  literally  shovelled  out  down  the 
gangway,  and  I  followed.  I  stood  on  the  landing- 
place  and.  looked  about  me.  I  was,  in  truth,  in  that 
other  country  for,  oh,  the  air!  It  was  like  nothing 
I  had  ever  known!  So  strong,  so  free,  so  soft,  as  if 
it  were  blowing  straight  from  the  great  Northland, 
over  unending  virgin  plains,  through  primeval  unend 
ing  forests,  that  the  dwellers  on  this  great  water  high 
way  might  enjoy  something  of  its  primal  purity  and 
strength. 

I  was  filling  my  lungs  full  of  it  and  thinking  of  my 
instructions  to  ask  for  Mrs.  Janet  Macleod,  when  a 
tall  man,  loosely  jointed  but  powerfully  built,  made 
his  way  to  me  through  the  crowd. 

"  I  take  it  you  're  the  gal  Mis'  Macleod  's  lookin' 
fer?  " 

It  was  simply  the  statement  of  a  foregone  conclu- 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  65 

sion,  but  the  drawling  nasal  intonation,  the  accent 
and  manner  of  speech,  told  me  that  it  was  native  to 
my  northern  New  England,  where  I  have  lived  two- 
thirds  of  my  life;  it  was  the  speech  of  my  own  people. 
I  laughed ;  I  could  not  have  helped  it.  It  was  such  a 
come-down  from  my  high  ideas  of  "  Seigniory  re 
tainers  "  of  foreign  birth,  with  which  romance  I 
had  been  entertaining  myself  ever  since  I  had  fed 
my  fancy  on  what  the  New  York  Public  Library 
yielded  me. 

"  Yes,  I  'm  the  one,  Marcia  Farrell.  Is  this  our 
coach?  " 

The  man  gave  me  a  keen  glance  from  under  his 
bushy  eyebrows;  indeed,  he  looked  sharply  at  me  a 
second  time.  If  he  thought  I  was  quizzing  him  he 
was  much  mistaken. 

"  Yes,  that 's  our'n,"  - 1  noticed  he  placed  an 
emphasis  on  the  possessive,  —  "  and  we  'd  better  be 
gettin' along 'fore  dark;  the  steamer 's  late.  You  and 
the  coach  ain't  just  what  you  'd  call  a  perfect  fit  — 
nor  I  could  n't  say  as  you  was  a  misfit,"  he  added,  as 
he  opened  the  door  for  me  to  get  in.  "  Guess  Mis' 
Macleod  was  expectin'  somebody  with  a  little  more 
heft  to  'em;  you  don't  look  over  tough?  "  The  state 
ment  was  put  in  the  form  of  a  question.  "  But  your 
trunk  '11  fill  up  some." 

He  hoisted  it  endwise  with  one  hand  on  to  the  front 
seat;  took  his  place  beside  it;  gathered  up  the  reins, 
and  said  to  the  boy: 

"  Let  'em  go,  Pete.    You  get  up  behind." 

But  the  horses  did  not  go.  They  snorted,  threw  up 
their  heads,  flourished  their  long  tails,  one  of  them 
showed  his  heels,  and  both  cavorted  to  the  wild  delight 
of  the  assembled  crowd. 


66  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

Some  emphatic  words  from  the  coachman,  and  judi 
cious  application  of  the  whiplash,  soon  showed  the 
young  thoroughbreds  what  was  wanted  of  them,  and 
they  trotted  slowly,  heavily,  but  steadily,  down  the 
road  beside  the  river,  Pete,  who  was  behind  on  a 
curious  tail  extension,  shouting  to  the  small  boys  as 
he  passed  them. 

After  the  horses  had  settled  down  to  real  work, 
my  driver  turned  to  me. 

"  Did  you  come  through  last  night  clear  from  New 
York?  " 

"  Yes,  and  I  'm  glad  to  get  here;  this  air  is  wonder 
ful." 

"  Thet  's  what  they  all  say  when  they  strike  Canady 
fer  the  fust  time.  I  take  it  it  's  your  fust  time?  " 

"  Yes,  I  'm  a  stranger  here." 

"  Speakin'  'bout  air  —  I  can't  see  much  difference 
'twixt  good  air  most  anywheres.  Take  it,  now,  up  in 
New  England,  up  north  where  I  was  raised,  you  can't 
get  better  nowheres.  Thet  comes  drorrin'  through 
the  mountains  and  acrosst  the  Lake,  an'  it  can't  be 
beat." 

I  made  no  reply  for  I  feared  he  would  ask  me  if  I 
knew  "  New  England  up  north  ". 

He  turned  to  look  at  me,  evidently  surprised  at  my 
short  silence.  He  saw  that  I  was  being  jolted  about 
on  the  broad  back  seat,  owing  to  the  uneven  road. 

"  Sho!  If  I  did  n't  have  the  trunk,  I  'd  put  you  here 
on  the  front  seat  'longside  of  me  to  kinder  steady 
you." 

"  How  far  is  it  to  the  Seigniory  of  Lamoral, 
Mr.  —  ?  "  I  ventured  to  ask,  hoping  for  a  flood  of 
information  about  the  Seigniory  and  its  occupants. 

"  Call  me  Cale,"  he  said  shortly;    "  thet  's  short 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  67 

fer  Caleb,  an'  what  all  the  Canucks  know  me  by.  Mis' 
Macleod,  she  ain't  but  jest  come  to  it;  she  balked 
considerable  at  fust,  but  it  rolls  off'n  her  tongue  now 
without  any  Scotch  burr,  I  can  tell  you!  You  was 
askin'  'bout  the  Seigniory  of  Lamoral  —  I  dunno  jest 
what  to  say.  The  way  we  're  proceedin'  now  it 's 
'bout  an  hour  from  here,  but  with  some  hosses  it  might 
take  a  half,  an'  by  boat  you  can  make  it  as  long  as 
you  're  a  mind  ter." 

"  It 's  a  large  place?  " 

"  Thet  depends  on  whether  you  're  talkin'  'bout 
the  old  manor  or  the  Seigniory;  one  I  can  show  you 
in  ten  minutes,  t'  other  in  about  three  days."  He 
turned  and  looked  at  me  again  with  his  small  keen 
gray  eyes. 

"  Where  was  you  raised  ?  "  He  spoke  carelessly 
enough;  but  I  knew  my  own.  He  was  simulating  in 
difference,  and  I  put  him  off  the  track  at  once. 

"  I  was  born  in  New  York  City." 

"  Great  place  —  New  York." 

He  chirrupped  to  the  colts,  and  we  drove  for 
the  next  fifteen  minutes  without  further  conversa 
tion. 

The  boat,  owing  to  heavy  freight,  was  an  hour 
late  in  leaving  Montreal,  and  two  hours  longer  than 
its  usual  time,  in  discharging  it  at  a  dozen  hamlets  and 
villages  along  the  St.  Lawrence.  In  consequence,  it 
was  sunset  when  we  left  the  landing-place,  and  the 
twilight  was  deepening  to-night,  as  we  turned  away 
from  the  river  road  and  drove  a  short  distance  inland. 
Once  Caleb  drew  rein  to  light  a  lantern,  and  summon 
Pete  from  the  back  of  the  coach  to  sit  beside  him  and 
hold  it. 

It  grew  rapidly  dark.    Leaning  from  the  open  upper 


68  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

half  of  the  coach  door,  I  could  just  see  between  the 
trees  along  the  roadside,  a  sheet  of  water. 

"  Hola!  "  Cale  shouted  suddenly  with  the  full  power 
of  his  lungs.  "  Hola  —  hola!  " 

It  was  echoed  by  Pete's  shrill  prolonged  "  Ho— 

IV        V        V        V        VI}? 

la-a-a-a-a ' 

"  Ho-la!  Ho!  "  came  the  answer  from  somewhere 
across  the  water.  Cale  turned  and  looked  over  his 
shoulder. 

"  Thet  's  the  ferry.  We  ferry  over  a  piece  here; 
it 's  the  back  water  of  a  crick  thet  makes  in  from  the 
river  'long  here,  fer  'bout  two  mile."  He  turned  into 
a  narrow  lane,  dark  under  the  trees,  and  drove  to  the 
water's  edge. 

By  the  flare  of  the  lantern  I  could  see  a  broad  raft, 
rigged  with  a  windlass,  slowly  moving  towards  us 
over  the  darkening  waters.  Another  lantern  of  steady 
gleam  lighted  the  face  of  the  ferryman.  It  took  but 
a  few  minutes  to  reach  the  bank;  the  horses  went  on 
to  the  boards  with  many  a  snort  and  much  stamping 
of  impatient  hoofs.  Pete  took  his  place  at  their  heads. 

"  Marche!  " 

We  moved  slowly  away  towards  the  other  bank. 
There  was  no  moon;  the  night  air  was  crisp  with 
coming  frost;  an  owl  hooted  somewhere  in  the  woods. 

We  were  soon  on  the  road  again,  as  ever  beneath 
trees.  It  seemed  to  me  as  if  we  were  turning  to  the 
river  again.  I  asked  Cale  about  it. 

"  You  Ve  hit  it  'bout  right,  in  the  dark  too.  We 
foller  back  a  quarter  of  a  mile,  an'  then  we  're  there." 

That  quarter  of  a  mile  seemed  long  to  me. 

"  Here  we  are,"  said  Cale,  at  last. 

I  looked  out.  I  could  see  the  long  low  outlines  of  a 
house  showing  dimly  white  through  the  trees,  for  there 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  69 

were  trees  everywhere.  A  flaring  light,  as  from  a  wood 
fire,  illumined  one  window. 

We  drew  up  at  a  broad  flight  of  low  steps.  A  door 
into  a  lighted  passageway  was  opened.  I  saw  there 
were  at  least  four  people  in  it;  one,  a  woman  in  a  white 
cap,  came  out  on  the  upper  step. 

"  Have  you  brought  Miss  Farrell,  Cale?  "  she  said. 

"  Yes,  Mis'  Macleod,  fetched  her  right  along;  but 
the  boat  was  good  three  hours  late.  —  Pete,  open  the 
door;  I  '11  hold  the  hosses." 

I  went  up  the  steps,  not  knowing  what  to  say,  for 
the  mere  inflection  of  her  voice,  the  gentle  address, 
the  prefix  "  Miss  "  to  my  name,  told  me  intuitively 
that  I  was  with  gentle  people,  and  my  service  with 
them  was  to  be  other  than  I  fancied. 


n 

HOPE  you  will  soon  feel  at  home  in  the  old 
manor."  With  these  words  I  was  made  wel- 
come.  Mrs.  Macleod  led  the  way  into  the 
house. 

"  Jamie,"  she  said  to  a  young  man,  or  youth,  I 
could  not  tell  which,  "  this  is  Miss  Farrell.  My  son," 
she  added,  turning  to  me. 

"  Call  me  Marcia,"  I  said  to  her.  She  smiled  as 
if  pleased. 

"  You  will  be  feeling  very  tired  after  your  long 
journey  —  and  I  'm  thinking  jolly  hungry  after  com 
ing  up  in  the  old  boat;  that  was  mother's  doings." 

"  Now,  Jamie  —  !  "  she  spoke  in  smiling  protest. 

O  Jamie,  Jamie  Macleod!  Your  thin  bright  eager 
face  was  in  itself  a  welcome  to  the  old  manor  of  La- 
moral. 

"  I  'm  not  tired,  but  I  confess  to  having  a  good  ap 
petite;  this  Canada  air  would  make  an  angel  long  for 
manna,"  I  said  laughing. 

"Wouldn't  it  though  — oh,  it's  great!"  he  re 
sponded  joyfully.  "  Angelique,  here,  will  help  you 
out  in  that  direction  —  she's  our  cook;  Angelique, 
come  here."  He  gave  his  command  in  French. 

The  short  thickset  French  Canadian  of  the  black- 
eyed-Susan  type,  came  forward,  with  outstretched 
hand,  from  the  back  of  the  passageway  ;  there  was 
good  friendship  in  her  hearty  grip. 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  71 

"  And  Marie  will  take  charge  of  you  till  supper 
time,"  said  Mrs.  Macleod,  smiling;  "  Jamie  is  apt  to 
run  the  house  at  times  because  he  can  speak  with  the 
servants  in  their  own  tongue." 

"  Now,  mother!  "  It  was  Jamie's  turn  to  pro 
test. 

Mrs.  Macleod  spoke  to  the  little  maid,  who  was 
beaming  on  me,  in  halting  French. 

"Do  you  speak  French?  "  she  asked  me. 

"  No,  I  can  read  it,  that  's  all." 

"  Oh,  well,  with  that  you  can  soon  understand  and 
speak  it;  my  Scotch  tongue  is  too  old  to  be  learning 
new  tricks;  fortunately  I  understand  it  a  little.  Marie 
will  take  you  to  your  room." 

Marie  looked  on  me  with  an  encouraging  smile,  and 
led  the  way  up  stairs  through  a  wide  passageway, 
down  three  steps  into  another  long  corridor,  and 
opened  a  door  at  the  end.  She  lighted  two  candles 
and,  after  some  pantomime  concerning  water,  left 
me,  closing  the  door  behind  her. 

And  this  was  my  room.  I  looked  around;  it  took 
immediate  possession  of  me  in  spirit  —  a  new  experi 
ence  for  me  and  a  wholly  pleasing  one. 

There  were  two  windows  in  one  end ;  the  walls  were 
sloping.  I  concluded  it  must  be  in  the  gable  end  of 
some  addition  to  the  main  building.  The  walls  were 
whitewashed ;  the  floor  was  neatly  laid  with  a  woven 
rag  carpet  of  peculiar  design  and  delicate  coloring;  the 
cottage  bedroom  set  was  painted  dark  green.  There 
was  a  plain  deal  writing  table  with  writing  pad  and 
inkstand,  and  a  dressing  table  on  which  stood  two 
white  china  candlesticks.  Counterpane,  chair  cush 
ions,  and  window  hangings  were  of  beautiful  old  chintz 
still  gay  with  faded  paroquets  and  vines,  trees,  trel- 


72  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

lises,  roses  and  numerous  humming-birds,  on  a  back 
ground  of  faded  crocus  yellow. 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door.  On  my  using  one 
of  the  few  words  in  French  at  my  command,  "  En- 
trez,"  Marie  burst  in  with  delighted  exclamations 
and  a  flood  of  unintelligible  French.  But  I  gathered 
she  was  explaining  to  me  Pierre  who  followed  her,  cap 
in  one  hand,  and  in  the  other,  the  handle  of  my  trunk 
which  he  was  dragging  behind  him.  This  was  evi 
dently  Pierre,  father,  in  distinction  from  Pierre, 
son. 

"  Big  Pete  and  little  Pete,"  I  translated  for  their 
benefit;  whereupon  Marie  clapped  her  hands  and 
Peter  the  Great  came  forward  man  fashion  to  shake 
hands  before  he  placed  my  trunk.  As  the  two  spoke 
together  I  heard  the  name  "  Cale  ". 

"  What  a  household!  "  I  said  to  myself  after  they 
had  gone,  and  while  I  was  doing  over  my  hair.  "  I 
wonder  if  there  are  any  other  members?  And  what 
is  my  place  in  it  going  to  be?  " 

It  kept  me  guessing  until  I  had  made  myself 
ready  for  supper. 

Soon  there  was  another  knock.  Marie's  voice  was 
heard;  her  tongue  loosed  in  voluble  expression  of  her 
evident  desire  to  conduct  me  down  stairs  to  the  di 
ning-room. 

"  Here  are  more  of  us!  "  was  Jamie  Mackod's  ex 
clamation,  as  I  entered  the  long  low  room.  Four  fine 
dogs  —  he  told  me  afterwards  they  were  Gordon  set 
ters  —  rose  slowly  from  the  rug  before  the  fireplace. 
"  But  they  're  Scotch  and  need  no  introduction. 
Come  here,  comrades!  " 

The  four  leaped  towards  me;  snuffed  at  me  with 
evident  curiosity;  licked  my  hands  and  were  about  to 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  73 

spring  on  me,  but  a  word  from  their  master  sent  them 
back  to  the  rug. 

He  showed  me  my  place  at  the  long  narrow  table; 
drew  out  the  chair  for  his  mother  and,  when  she  was 
seated,  spoke  to  the  dogs  who,  with  perfect  decorum, 
sedately  settled  themselves  on  their  haunches  in  twos, 
one  on  each  side  of  Mrs.  Macleod  at  the  head  of  the 
table,  one  on  each  side  of  her  son  at  her  right.  They 
looked  for  all  the  world  like  the  Barye  bronzes  in  the 
Metropolitan  Museum !  After  all,  I  could  not  get  rid 
of  all  the  associations,  nor  did  this  one  bring  with  it 
anything  but  pleasure,  that  the  great  city  had  yielded 
me  this  much  of  instruction. 

I  was  looking  at  the  dogs  and  about  to  speak,  when 
I  noticed  that  Mrs.  Macleod  had  bent  her  head  and 
folded  her  hands.  I  caught  Jamie  looking  at  me  out 
of  the  corner  of  his  eye .  For  the  first  time  in  my  life 
I  heard  "  grace  "  said  at  a  table.  I  felt  myself  grow 
red;  I  was  embarrassed.  Jamie  saw  my  confusion 
and  began  to  chat  in  his  own  bright  way. 

"  I  asked  mother  if  she  had  written  definitely  what 
we  'd  asked  you  up  here  for  into  the  wilds  of  Canada." 

"  Now,  Jamie !  You  will  be  giving  Miss  —  Marcia," 
she  corrected  herself,  "  to  understand  I  asked  her  here 
under  false  pretence.  To  tell  the  truth,  I  did  n't  quite 
see  how  to  explain  myselfj  at  such  a  distance."  She 
spoke  with  perfect  sincerity.  "  Moreover,  Doctor 
Rugvie  told  me  that  Mrs.  Beaseley  was  absolutely 
trustworthy,  and  I  relied  on  her  —  but  you  don't 
know  Doctor  Rugvie?  " 

"  Of  him,  yes;  I  saw  him  once  in  the  hospital." 

"  So  you  've  been  in  the  hospital  too?  " 

lUwas  Jamie  who  put  that  question,  and  something 
of  the  eager  light  in  his  face  faded  as  he  asked  it. 


74  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

"  Yes,  last  spring;  I  was  there  ten  weeks." 

"  Then  you  know/'  he  said  quite  simply,  and  looked 
at  me  with  inquiring  eyes. 

Why  or  how  I  was  enabled  to  read  the  significance 
of  that  simple  statement,  I  cannot  say;  I  know  only 
in  part.  But  I  do  know  that  my  eyes  must  have  an 
swered  his,  for  I  saw  in  them  a  reflection  of  my  own 
thought:  We  both,  then,  have  known  what  it  is,  to 
draw  near  to  the  threshold  of  that  door  that  opens 
only  outward. 

"  You  don't  indeed  look  strong;  I  noticed  that  the 
first  thing,"  said  Mrs.  Macleod. 

"  Oh,  but  I  am,"  I  assured  her;  "  you  will  see  when 
you  have  work  for  me.  I  can  cook,  and  sew  —  and 
chop  wood,  and  even  saw  a  little,  if  necessary." 

Mrs.  Macleod  looked  at  me  in  absolute  amazement, 
and  Jamie  burst  into  a  hearty  laugh.  It  was  good  to 
hear,  and,  without  in  the  slightest  knowing  why,  I 
laughed  too  —  at  what  I  did  not  know,  nor  much 
care.  It  was  good  to  laugh  like  that ! 

"  And  to  think,  mother,  that  you  told  me  to  come 
down  heavy  on  the  '  strong  and  country  raised  '!  Oh, 
this  is  rich !  I  wrote  that  advertisement,  Miss  Far — 

"  Please  call  me  Marcia." 

"  May  I  ?  "    He  was  again  eager  and  boyish. 

"  Why  not?  "  I  said.  He  went  on  with  his  un 
finished  sentence. 

"  —  And  I  pride  myself  that  I  rose  to  the  occasion 
of  mother's  command  to  make  it '  brief  but  explicit'.  " 

"  Poor  girl,  you  've  had  little  chance  to  hear  any 
thing  explicit  from  me  as  yet."  Mrs.  Macleod  smiled, 
rather  sadly  I  thought.  "  But  you  shall  know  before 
you  go  to  bed.  I  could  n't  be  so  thoughtless  as  to 
keep  you  in  suspense  over  night." 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  75 

"  Oh,  I  can  wait,"  I  said;  "  but  what  I  want  to 
know,  Mr.  Macleod  —  " 

"  Please  call  me  Jamie,"  he  said,  imitating  my  voice 
and  intonation. 

"  May  I  ?  "  I  replied,  mimicking  his  own.  Then  we 
both  fell  to  laughing  like  two  children,  and  it  seemed 
to  me  that  I  felt  what  it  is  to  be  young,  for  the  first 
time  in  my  life.  The  four  dogs  wagged  their  tails, 
threshing  the  floor  with  them  like  flails  and  keeping 
time  to  our  hilarity;  Mrs.  Macleod  smiled,  almost 
happily,  and  Marie  came  in  to  see  what  it  was  all 
about. 

"  What  do  you  want  to  know?  "  he  said  at  last, 
mopping  the  tears  from  his  eyes  with  his  napkin. 

"  Why  you  advertised  your  mother  as  '  an  elderly 
Scotchwoman  '  ?  " 

"  Because  that  sounded  safe." 

Again  we  laughed,  it  seemed  at  almost  nothing. 
The  dogs  whined  as  if  wanting  to  join  in  what  fun 
there  was;  the  fire  snapped  merrily  on  the  hearth, 
and  the  large  coal-oil  lamp,  at  the  farther  end  of  the 
long  table,  sent  forth  a  cheerful  light  from  under  its 
white  porcelain  shade,  and  showed  me  the  old  room  in 
all  its  simple  beauty. 

Overhead,  the  great  beams  and  the  ceiling  were  a 
rich  mahogany  color  with  age.  The  sides  were  pan 
elled  to  the  ceiling  with  the  same  wood.  Between 
the  two  doors  opening  into  the  passageway,  was  a 
huge  but  beautifully  proportioned  marble  chimney- 
piece  that  reached  to  the  beams  of  the  ceiling.  The 
marble  was  of  the  highest  polish,  white,  pale  yellow, 
and  brown  in  tone.  Above  the  mantel,  it  formed  the 
frame  of  a  large  canvas  that  showed  a  time-darkened 
landscape  with  mounted  hunters.  The  whole  piece 


76  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

was  exquisitely  carved  with  the  wild  grape  vine  — 
its  leaves  and  fruit. 

On  each  side  were  old  iron  sconces.  Above  the 
two  doors  were  the  antlers  of  stags.  The  room 
was  lighted  by  four  windows;  these  were  hung 
with  some  faded  chintz,  identical  in  pattern  and 
color  with  that  in  my  bedroom;  they  were  drawn.  I 
wondered,  as  I  looked  at  this  beauty  of  simplicity, 
what  the  other  rooms  in  the  house  would  show.  I 
noticed  there  was  no  sideboard,  no  dresser;  only  the 
table,  and  heavy  chairs  with  wooden  seats,  furnished 
the  room. 

The  food  was  wholesome  and  abundant.  I  found 
myself  wondering  that  I  could  eat  each  mouthful  with 
out  counting  the  cost. 

"  I  '11  stay  here  with  the  dogs  and  smoke,"  Jamie 
said,  as  we  left  the  table. 

We  crossed  the  passageway,  which  I  noticed  was 
laid  with  flagging  and  unheated,  to  the  room  opposite 
the  dining-room. 

Here  again,  there  were  the  wood  ceilings  and  pan 
elled  walls,  the  latter  painted  white.  The  great  chim 
ney-piece  was  like  its  fellow  in  the  dining-room;  only 
the  carvings  were  different:  intricate  scrollwork  and 
fine  groovings.  There  was  a  canvas,  also,  in  the 
marble  frame,  but  it  was  in  a  good  state  of  preserva 
tion;  it  showed  a  walled  city  on  a  height  and  a  river 
far  below.  I  wondered  if  it  could  be  Quebec. 

The  room  was  larger  than  the  other,  but  much  cosier 
in  every  way.  There  were  a  few  modern  easy  chairs, 
an  ample  old  sofa  —  swans  carved  on  the  back  and 
arms  —  a  large  library  table  of  black  oak  with  bevelled 
edges,  also  beautifully  carved;  and  around  the  walls  of 
the  room,  in  every  available  space,  were  plain  low  book- 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  77 

shelves  of  pine  stained  to  match  the  table.  On  the 
floor  were  the  same  woven  rugs  of  rag  carpet,  unique 
of  design  and  beautiful  in  coloring  —  dark  brown, 
pale  yellow,  and  white,  with  large  squares  marked  off 
in  narrow  lines  of  rose.  The  furniture,  except  for  the 
sofa  which  was  upholstered  in  faded  yellow  wool 
damask,  was  covered  with  flowery  chintz  like  that 
in  the  dining-room,  and  at  the  windows  were  the  same 
faded  yellow  hangings.  A  large  black  bear  skin  rug 
lay  before  the  hearth.  There  were  no  ornaments  or 
pictures  anywhere.  On  the  mantel  were  two  pots  of 
flourishing  English  ivy.  A  stand  of  geraniums  stood 
before  one  of  the  four  windows. 

There  were  sconces  on  each  side  of  the  chimney- 
piece,  but  of  gilt  bronze.  Each  was  seven-branched, 
and  it  was  evident  that  Marie  had  just  lighted  all 
fourteen  candles. 

Mrs.  Macleod  drew  her  chair  to  the  hearth,  and 
I  took  one  near  her. 


Ill 

I"  T  is  a  good  time  to  speak  of  some  matters  be 
tween  ourselves ;  Jamie  will  not  be  coining  in 
for  an  hour  at  least."  She  turned  and  looked 
at  me  steadily. 

"  I  don't  know  how  much  or  how  little  you  know  of 
this  place,  and  perhaps  it  will  be  best  to  begin  at  the 
beginning.  Mrs.  Beaseley  wrote  me  you  were  born 
in  the  city  of  New  York." 

"  Yes;  twenty-six  years  ago  next  December." 

"  So  Mrs.  Beaseley  wrote,  or  rather  her  daughter 
did  for  her.  She  said  you  were  an  orphan." 

"  Yes."  I  answered  so.  How  could  I  answer  other 
wise  knowing  what  I  did?  But  I  felt  the  blood  mount 
to  my  temples  when  I  stated  this  half  truth. 

"  You  say  you  do  not  know  Doctor  Rugvie?  " 

"No;  only  of  him." 

"  I  wish  you  did."  (How  could  she  know  that  my 
wish  to  see  him  and  know  him  must  be  far  stronger 
than  hers!) 

"  He  will  be  coming  out  here  later  on  in  the  winter 
—  are  you  cold?  "  she  asked  quickly,  for  I  had  shiv 
ered  to  cover  an  involuntary  start. 

"  No,  not  at  all;  but  I  think  it  must  be  growing 
colder  outside." 

"  It  is.  Cale  said  we  might  have  heavy  frost  or 
snow  before  morning.  You  will  find  the  changes  in 
temperature  very  sudden  and  trying  here  in  spring 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  79 

and  autumn.  About  Doctor  Rugvie;  he  is  a  good 
man,  and  a  great  one  in  his  profession.  We  made  his 
acquaintance  many  years  ago  in  Scotland,  in  my  own 
home,  Crieff.  He  had  lodgings  with  us  for  ten  weeks, 
and  since  then  he  has  made  us  proud  to  be  counted 
among  his  friends." 

She  rose,  stirred  the  fire  and  took  a  maple  stick  from 
a  large  wood-basket. 

"  Let  me,"  I  said,  taking  it  from  her. 

"  You  really  don't  look  strong  enough." 

"  Oh,  but  I  am;  you  '11  see." 

"  By  the  way,  don't  let  my  son  do  anything  like 
this.  He  is  often  careless  and  over  confident,  and  he 
must  not  strain  himself  —  he  is  under  strict  orders." 
She  was  silent  for  a  moment  then  went  on : 

"  My  son  is  not  strong,  as  you  must  see."  She 
looked  at  me  appealingly,  as  if  hoping  I  might  dispute 
her  statement;  but  I  could  say  nothing. 

"  A  year  ago,"  she  spoke  slowly,  as  if  with  difficulty, 
"  he  was  in  the  Edinboro'  Hospital  for  five  months; 
he  inherits  his  father's  constitution,  and  the  hemor 
rhages  were  very  severe.  Doctor  Rugvie  came  over 
to  see  him,  and  advised  his  coming  out  here  to  Canada 
to  live  as  far  as  possible  in  the  pine  forests.  He  has 
been  away  all  summer.  He  is  to  go  away  again  next 
year  with  one  of  the  old  guides. 

"  I  want  you  to  remain  with  me  as  companion  and 
assistant  here  in  the  house;  the  service  is  large  and,  as 
you  will  soon  find,"  she  added  withasmile,  "extremely 
personal.  They  are  interested  in  us  and  our  doings, 
and  we  are  expected  to  reciprocate  that  interest.  It 
will  be  a  comfort  to  Jamie  to  know  you  are  with  me, 
and  that  I  am  not  alone  in  this  French  environment." 
She  interrupted  herself  to  say: 


80  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

"  Did  Mrs.  Beaseley  tell  you  anything  about  this 
place?  You  can  speak  with  perfect  freedom  to  me. 
We  have  no  mysteries  here."  She  smiled  as  if  she 
read  my  thoughts. 

"  She  told  me  she  knew  nothing  of  the  place,  except 
that  Doctor  Rugvie  had  hired  a  farm  in  Canada  with 
some  good  buildings  on  it,  and  that  he  intended  to 
use  it  for  those  who  might  need  to  be  built  up  in 
health." 

"  She  has  stated  it  exactly.  My  son  and  I  are  the 
first  beneficiaries  —  only,  this  is  not  the  farm." 

"  Not  the  farm!  "  I  exclaimed.  She  looked  amused 
at  Tny  surprise.  "  What  is  it  then?  Do  tell  me." 

"  There  is  very  little  to  tell.  A  friend  of  Doctor 
Rugvie's,  an  Englishman  who  was  with  him  for  a  week 
in  Scotland  while  he  was  with  us,  is  owner  of  the  Sei 
gniory  of  Lamoral;  it  is  his,  I  think,  by  inheritance, 
although  I  am  not  positive;  and  this  is  the  old  manor 
house.  The  estate  is  very  large,  but  has  been  neg 
lected;  I  have  understood  it  is  to  be  cultivated; 
some  of  it  is  to  be  reforested  and  the  present  forest 
conserved.  He  will  be  his  own  manager  and  will  make 
his  home  here  a  great  part  of  the  year.  Meanwhile,  he 
has  installed  us  here  in  his  absence,  through  Doctor 
Rugvie,  of  course,  and  given  over  the  charge  of  house 
and  servants  to  Jamie  and  me." 

"  And  what  is  the  owner's  title?  " 

"  He  has  none  that  I  know  of.  The  real '  Seignior  ' 
and  '  Seignioress  '  live  in  Richelieu-en-Bas  in  the  new 
manor  house  —  I  say '  new  ',  but  that  must  be  seventy- 
five  years  old.  This  is  only  a  part  of  the  original  sei 
gniory." 

"  I  don't  understand  these  seigniories,  and  I  tried  to 
read  up  about  them  before  I  came  here." 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  81 

"It  is  very  perplexing  —  these  seigniorial  rights 
and  rents  and  transferences.  I  don't  make  any  pre 
tence  of  understanding  them." 

"  Are  the  farm  buildings  occupied  now?  " 

"No;  Doctor  Rugvie  wants  to  attend  to  those 
himself.  It  is  his  recreation  to  make  plans  for  this 
farm,  and  he  will  be  here  himself  to  see  that  they  are 
begun  and  carried  out  right.  He  tells  me  he  has  al 
ways  loved  Canada." 

"  And  what  am  I  to  do  for  you?  I  want  to  begin  to 
feel  of  a  little  use,"  I  said  half  impatiently. 

"  You  are  doing  for  me  now,  my  dear."  (How 
easily  Delia  Beaseley's  name  for  me  came  from  the 
''elderly  Scotchwoman's"  lips!)  "Your  presence 
cheers  Jamie;  the  young  need  the  young,  and  belong 
to  the  young  — 

"  But,"  I  protested,  "  I  am  not  young;  I  am 
twenty-six." 

"  And  Jamie  is  twenty-three.  But  when  you 
laughed  together  to-night,  you  both  might  have  been 
sixteen.  It  did  me  good  to  hear  you;  this  old  house 
needs  just  that  —  and  I  can't  laugh  easily  now," 
she  added.  I  heard  a  note  of  hopelessness  in  her 
voice. 

How  lovely  she  was  as  she  sat  by  the  fire  in  the  soft 
radiance  of  candle  light!  "Elderly"!  —  She  could 
not  be  a  day  over  fifty-seven  or  eight.  The  fine  white 
cap  rested  on  heavy,  smoothly  parted  hair;  the  figure 
was  round  to  plumpness;  the  dress,  not  modernized, 
became  her;  her  voice  was  still  young  if  a  little  weary, 
and  her  brown  eyes  bright,  the  lids  unwrinkled. 

"  Do  you  know  Delia  Beaseley  well?  Doctor  Rugvie 
says  she  is  a  fine  woman." 

"  She  is  noble,"  I  said  emphatically;   "  I  feel  that 


82  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

I  know  her  well,  although  I  have  seen  her  only  a  few 
times." 

"  Is  she  a  widow?  " 

The  door  opened  before  I  could  gather  my  wits  to 
answer.  I  felt  intuitively  that  I  could  not  say  to  this 
Scotchwoman,  that  Delia  Beaseley  was  neither  widow 
nor  wife.  I  welcomed  the  sudden  inrush  of  all  four 
dogs  and  Jamie  behind  them,  with  the  smell  of  a  fresh 
pipe  about  him. 

"  I  positively  must  have  my  second  short  pipe  here 
with  you.  I  kept  away  in  deference  to  the  new  mem 
ber  of  the  family."  He  flourished  his  pipe  towards  me. 
"  I  always  smoke  here,  don't  I,  mother?  " 

"  In  that  case,  I  will  stay  in  my  room  after  supper 
unless  you  continue  to  smoke  your  first,  second,  and 
third  - 

"  Only  two;  Doctor  Rugvie  won't  allow  me  a 
third  —  " 

"  Doctor  Rugvie  is  a  tyrant,  and  I  've  said  the  same 
thing  before,"  I  declared  firmly. 

"  Now,  look  here,  Marcia,"  he  said  solemnly,  "  we 
will  call  a  halt  right  now  and  here."  He  settled  his 
long  length  in  the  deep  easy  chair  on  the  other  side 
of  the  hearth,  refilled  and  relighted  his  pipe.  "  Doc 
tor  Rugvie  is  my  friend,  my  very  special  friend ;  who 
ever  enters  this  house,  enters  it  on  the  footing  of 
friendship  with  all  those  who  are  my  friends  — 

"  Hear,  hear!  Another  tyrant,"  I  said,  turning  to 
his  mother  who  was  enjoying  our  chaff. 

"  —  Whose  name  is  legion,"  he  went  on,  ignoring 
my  interruption.  "  I'll  begin  to  enumerate  them  for 
your  benefit.  There  are  the  four  dogs,  Gordon  setters 
of  the  best  breed  —  and  Gordon's  setters  in  fact." 
He  made  some  pun  at  which  his  mother  smiied,  but  it 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  83 

was  lost  on  me.  "  They  're  not  mine,  they  're  my 
friend's,  and  that  amounts  to  the  same  thing  when 
he  's  away." 

"  And  who  is  this  friend  of  dogs  and  of  man?  " 

"He?  Guy  Mannering,  hear  her!  Why  there's 
only  one  '  he  '  for  this  place  and  that 's  — 

"  Doctor  Rugvie?  " 

"  Doctor  Rugvie!  "  he  repeated,  looking  at  me  in 
unfeigned  amazement;  then  to  his  mother: 

"  Have  n't  you  told  her  yet,  mother?  " 

"  I  doubt  if  I  mentioned  his  name  —  I  had  so  many 
other  things  to  say  and  think  of."  She  spoke  half 
apologetically. 

"  The  man  who  owns  this  house,  Miss  Farrell,"  — 
he  was  speaking  so  earnestly  and  emphatically  that  he 
forgot  our  agreement,  —  "  the  man  who  owns  these 
dogs,  the  lord  of  this  manor,  such  as  it  is,  and  every 
thing  belonging  to  it,  lord  of  a  forest  it  will  do  your 
eyes  and  lungs  and  soul  good  to  journey  through,  the 
man  who  is  master  in  the  best  sense  of  Pete  and 
little  Pete,  of  Angelique  and  Marie,  of  old  Mere 
Guillardeau,  of  a  dozen  farmers  here  on  the  old  Sei 
gniory  of  Lamoral,  my  friend,  Doctor  Rugvie's  friend 
and  friend  of  all  Richelieu-en-Bas,  is  Mr.  Ewart, 
Gordon  Ewart  —  and  you  missed  my  pun !  the 
first  I've  made  to-day!  —  and  I  hope  he  will  be 
yours!  " 

"  Well,  I  '11  compromise.  If  he  will  just  tolerate  me 
here  for  your  sakes,  I  '11  be  his  friend  whether  he  is 
mine  or  not  —  for  I  want  to  stay." 

I  meant  what  I  said ;  and  I  think  both  mother  and 
son  realized,  that  under  the  jesting  words  there  was  a 
deep  current  of  feeling.  Mrs.  Macleod  leaned  over 
and  laid  her  hand  on  mine. 


84  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

"  You  shall  stay,  Marcia;  it  will  not  depend  on  Mr. 
Ewart,  your  remaining  with  us.  When  the  farm  is 
ready,  Doctor  Rugvie  will  place  us  there,  and  then  I 
shall  need  your  help  all  the  time." 

Again,  as  at  the  station  with  Delia  Beaseley's  bless 
ing  ringing  in  my  ears,  I  felt  the  unaccustomed  tears 
springing  in  my  eyes.  Jamie  leaned  forward  and 
knocked  the  ashes  from  his  pipe;  he  continued  to 
stare  into  the  fire. 

"  And  who  are  the  others?  "  I  asked  unsteadily; 
my  lips  trembled  in  spite  of  myself. 

"  The  others?  Oh  — ,"  he  seemed  to  come  back  to 
us  from  afar,  "  there  is  Andre  — 

"  And  who  is  Andre?  " 

"  Just  Andre  —  none  such  in  the  wide  world;  my 
guide's  old  father,  old  Mere  Guillardeau's  brother,  old 
French  voyageur  and  coureur  de  bois;  it  will  take 
another  evening  to  tell  you  of  Andre.  —  Mother,"  he 
spoke  abruptly,  "  it 's  time  for  porridge  and  Cale." 

"  Yes,  I  will  speak  to  Marie."  She  rose  and  left 
the  room  by  a  door  at  the  farther  end. 

"  Remark  those  fourteen  candles,  will  you?  "  said 
Jamie,  between  puffs. 

"  I  have  noticed  them;  I  call  that  a  downright  ex 
travagance." 

"  I  pay  for  it,"  he  said  sententiously;  then,  with  a 
slight  flash  of  resentment;  "  you  need  n't  think  I 
sponge  on  Ewart  to  the  extent  of  fourteen  candles  a 
night." 

I  laughed  a  little  under  my  breath.  I  knew  a  little 
friction  would  do  him  no  harm. 

"  And  when  those  fourteen  candles  burn  to  within 
two  inches  of  the  socket,  as  at  present,  it  is  my  inva 
riable  custom,  being  a  Scotsman,  to  call  for  the  por- 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  85 

ridge — and  for  Cale,  because  he  is  of  our  tongue,  and 
needs  to  discourse  with  his  own,  at  least  once,  before 
going  to  bed.  I  say  a  Scotsman  without  his  nine 
o'clock  porridge  is  a  cad." 

"  Any  more  remarks  are  in  order,"  I  said  to  tease 
him. 

"  You  really  must  know  Cale  —  " 

"  I  thought  I  made  his  acquaintance  this  after 
noon." 

He  laughed  again  his  hearty  laugh.  "  I  forgot; 
he  drove  you  out.  We  did  n't  send  Pete  because  we 
thought  you  might  not  understand  his  lingo.  But 
you  must  n't  fancy  you  know  Cale  because  you  've 
seen  him  once  —  oh,  no !  You  '11  have  to  see  him  daily 
and  sometimes  hourly;  in  fact,  you  will  see  so  much 
of  him  that,  sometimes,  you  will  wish  it  a  little  less;  for 
you  are  to  understand  that  Cale  is  omnipresent,  very 
nearly  omnipotent  here  with  us,  and  indispensable  to 
me.  You  will  accept  him  on  my  recommendation  and 
afterwards  make  a  friend  of  him  for  your  own  sake." 

"  Who  is  he?  " 

"  Cale?  —  He  's  just  Cale  too.  His  name  is  Caleb 
Mars  tin;  '  hails',  as  he  says,  from  northern  New  Eng 
land.  I  have  noticed  he  does  n't  care  to  name  the 
locality,  and  I  respect  his  reticence;  it 's  none  of  my 
business.  He  says  he  has  n't  lived  there  for  more  than 
a  quarter  of  a  century  and  has  no  relations.  He  can 
tell  you  more  about  forests,  lumber  and  forestry,  in 
one  hour  than  a  whole  Agricultural  College.  He  has 
been  for  years  lumbering  in  northern  Minnesota  and 
across  the  Canadian  border.  He  's  here  to  help  re 
forest  and  conserve  the  old  forest  to  the  estate ;  he  's 
—  in  a  word,  he  's  my  right  hand  man." 

"  Is  Mr.  Ewart  lord  of  Cale  too?  " 


86  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

At  my  question,  Jamie's  long  body  doubled  up  with 
mirth. 

"  Have  n't  seen  each  other  yet  and  don't  know  each 
other.  Gordon  Ewart  is  n't  apt  to  acknowledge  any 
one  as  his  master,  especially  in  the  matter  of  forestry, 
and  Cale  never  does;  result,  fun  for  us  when  they  do 
know  each  other." 

"  How  did  you  happen  to  get  him  here?  " 

"  Oh,  a  girl  I  know,  who  visits  in  Richelieu-en-Bas, 
said  her  father,  who  is  a  big  lumber  merchant  on  the 
States'  border,  knew  of  good  men  for  the  place.  Ewart 
had  told  me  that  this  was  my  first  business,  to  get  a 
man  for  the  place;  so  I  wrote  to  him,  and  he  replied 
that  Cale  was  coming  east  in  the  spring  and  he  had 
given  him  my  name.  That 's  how." 

Mrs.  Macleod  came  in,  followed  by  Marie  with 
steaming  porridge,  bowls  and  spoons  on  a  tray;  Cale 
was  behind  her.  Jamie  looked  up  with  a  smile. 

"  Cale,  this  is  Miss  Farrell,  the  new  member  of  our 
Canadian  settlement.  I  take  it  you  have  spoken  with 
her  before." 

There  was  no  outstretched  hand  for  me ;  nor  did  I 
extend  mine  to  him.  We  were  of  one  people,  Cale  and 
I:  northern  New  Englanders,  and  rarely  demon 
strative  to  strangers.  We  are  apt  to  wait  for  an  ad 
vance  in  friendship  and  then  retreat  before  it  when  it 
is  made,  for  the  simple  reason  that  we  fear  to  show 
how  much  we  want  it!  But  I  smiled  up  at  him  as  he 
took  his  stand  by  the  mantel,  leaning  an  elbow  on  it. 

''  Yes,  Cale  and  I  have  made  each  other's  acquaint 
ance."  I  noticed  that  when  I  looked  up  at  him  and 
smiled,  he  gave  an  involuntary  start.  I  wondered  if 
Jamie  saw  it. 

"  Yes,  we  had  some  conversation,  such  as  'twas,  ^i 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  87 

the  way.  'T  ain't  every  young  gal  would  ride  out 
inter  what  you  might  call  the  unbeknownst  of  a  sei 
gniory  in  Canady  with  an  old  feller  like  me." 

A  slow  smile  wrinkled  his  gaunt  whiskered  cheeks, 
and  creased  a  little  more  deeply  the  crowsfeet  around 
the  small  keen  grey  eyes  that,  I  noticed,  fixed  them 
selves  on  me  and  were  hardly  withdrawn  during  the 
five  minutes  he  stood  by  the  mantel  gulping  his  por 
ridge. 

After  finishing  it,  he  bade  us  an  abrupt  good  night 
and  left. 

"  What 's  struck  Cale,  mother?  "  Jamie  asked  as 
soon  as  he  had  left  the  room;  "  this  is  the  first  time 
I  Ve  ever  known  his  loquacity  to  be  at  a  low  ebb.  It 
could  n't  be  Marcia,  could  it?  " 

"  I  don't  think  Marcia's  presence  had  anything  to 
do  with  it;  he  is  n't  apt  to  be  minding  the  presence  of 
any  one.  I  think  he  has  something  on  his  mind." 

"  Then  he  'd  better  get  it  off;  I  don't  like  it,"  said 
Jamie  brusquely;  "  here  they  come  —  " 

In  came  Angelique  and  Marie,  Pierre  the  Great,  and 
Pierre  the  Small,  to  bid  us  good  night;  it  was  their  cus 
tom;  and  after  the  many  "  bonne-nuits  "  and  "  dor- 
mez-biens  ",  they  trooped  out.  We  took  our  lighted 
candlesticks  from  the  library  table  where  Marie  had 
placed  them;  Jamie  snuffed  out  the  fourteen  low-burn 
ing  lights  in  the  sconces,  drew  ashes  over  the  embers, 
put  a  large  screen  before  the  fire,  and  we  went  to  our 
rooms. 

Mine  greeted  me  with  an  extra  degree  of  warmth. 
Marie  had  made  more  fire ;  the  air  was  frosty.  I  drew 
apart  the  curtains  and  looked  out.  There  was  only  the 
blackness  of  night  beyond  the  panes.  I  drew  them  to 
again;  unlocked  my  trunk  to  take  out  merely  what 


88  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

was  necessary  for  the  night,  undressed  and  went  to 
bed. 

I  must  have  lain  there  hours  with  wide  open  eyes ; 
there  was  no  sleep  in  me.  Hour  after  hour  I  listened  for 
a  sound  from  somewhere;  there  was  absolute  silence 
within  the  manor  and  without.  I  had  opened  my  win 
dow  for  air,  and,  as  I  lay  there  wide  awake,  gradually, 
without  reason,  in  that  intense  silence,  the  various 
nightly  street  sounds  of  the  great  city,  five  hun 
dred  miles  to  the  southward,  began  to  sound  in  my 
ears;  at  first  far  away,  then  nearer  and  nearer  until  I 
heard  distinctly  the  roar  of  the  elevated,  the  multiplied 
"  honk-honk  "  of  the  automobiles,  the  rolling  of  cabs, 
the  grating  clamor  of  the  surface  cars,  the  clang  of  the 
ambulance,  the  terrific  clatter  of  the  horses'  hoofs  as 
they  sped  three  abreast  to  the  fire,  the  hoarse  whistle 
of  tug  and  ferry;  and,  above  all,  the  voices  of  those 
crying  in  that  wilderness. 

Again  I  felt  that  awful  burden,  that  blackness  of 
oppression,  which  was  with  me  for  weeks  in  the  hospi 
tal  —  the  result  of  the  intensified  life  of  the  huge  me 
tropolis  and  the  giant  machinery  that  sustains  it  — 
and,  feeling  it,  I  knew  myself  to  be  a  stranger  even 
in  the  white  walled  room  in  the  old  manor  house  of 
Lamoral. 

It  must  have  been  long,  long  after  midnight  when 
I  fell  asleep. 


IV 

THERE  was  a  soft  white  light  on  walls  and  ceil 
ing  when  I  awoke.  I  recognized  it  at  once: 
the  reflection  from  snow.  I  drew  aside  both 
curtains  and  looked  out. 

"Oh,  how  beautiful!"  I  exclaimed,  drawing  long 
deep  breaths  of  the  fine  dry  air. 

It  was  the  so-called  "  feather-snow  "  that  had  fallen 
during  the  night.  It  powdered  the  massive  drooping 
hemlock  boughs,  the  spraying  underbrush,  the  stiff- 
branched  spruce  and  cedars  that  crowded  the  tall 
pines,  overstretching  the  steep  gable  above  my  win 
dows. 

Just  below  me,  about  twenty  feet  from  the  house, 
was  the  creek,  a  backwater  of  the  St.  Lawrence,  lying 
clear,  unruffled,  dark,  and  mirroring  the  snow-frosted 
cedars,  hemlocks,  and  spraying  underbrush.  Across 
its  narrow  width  the  woods  came  down  to  the  water, 
glowing  crimson,  flaunting  orange,  shimmering  yel 
low  beneath  the  light  snow  fall.  Straight  through 
these  woods,  and  directly  opposite  my  windows,  a 
broad  lane  had  been  cut,  a  long  wide  clearing  that 
led  my  eyes  northward,  over  some  open  country,  to 
the  soft  blue  line  of  the  mountains.  I  took  them  to 
be  the  Laurentides. 

From  a  distance,  in  the  direction  of  the  village, 
came  the  sudden  muffled  clash  of  bells;  then  peal 
followed  peal.  The  sun  was  fully  an  hour  high.  As 


go  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

I  listened,  I  heard  the  soft  drip,  drip,  that  sounded 
the  vanishing  of  the  "  feather-snow  ". 

I  stood  long  at  the  window,  for  I  knew  this  glory 
was  transient  and  before  another  snowfall  every  crim 
son  and  yellow  leaf  would  have  fallen. 

While  dressing,  I  took  myself  to  task  for  the  mood 
of  the  night  before.  Such  thoughts  could  not  serve 
me  in  my  service  to  others.  I  was  a  beneficiary  — 
Mrs.  Macleod's  word  —  as  well  as  Jamie  and  his 
mother,  and  I  determined  to  make  the  most  of  my 
benefits  which,  in  the  morning  sunshine,  seemed  many 
and  great.  Had  I  not  health,  a  sheltering  room,  abun 
dant  food  and  good  wages? 

I  could  not  help  wondering  whose  v/as  the  money 
with  which  I  was  to  be  paid.  Had  it  anything  to  do 
with  Doctor  Rugvie's  "  conscience  fund  "  ?  Did 
Mrs.  Macleod  and  Jamie  bear  the  expense?  Or  was 
it  Mr.  Ewart's? 

"  Ewart  —  Ewart,"  I  said  to  myself;  "why  it's 
the  very  same  I  heard  in  the  train." 

Then  and  there  I  made  my  decision:  I  would  write 
to  Delia  Beaseley  that,  as  Mrs.  Macleod  said  Doctor 
Rugvie  would  be  here  sometime  later  on  in  the  winter ^ 
I  would  wait  until  I  should  have  seen  him  before  ask 
ing  him  for  my  papers. 

"  I  shall  ask  her  never  to  mention  my  name  to  him 
in  connection  with  what  happened  twenty-six  years 
ago;  I  prefer  to  tell  it  myself,"  was  my  thought; 
"  it  is  an  affair  of  my  own  life,  and  it  belongs  to  me, 
and  to  no  other,  to  act  as  pioneer  into  this  part  of  my 
experience  — 

Marie's  rap  and  entrance  with  hot  water,  her  vol 
uble  surprise  at  finding  me  up  and  dressed,  and  our 
efforts  to  understand  each  other,  diverted  my 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  91 

thoughts.  I  made  out  that  the  family  breakfasted 
an  hour  later,  and  that  it  was  Marie's  duty  t,o  make  a 
fire  for  me  every  morning.  I  felt  almost  like  apolo 
gizing  to  her  for  allowing  her  to  do  it  for  me,  who  am 
able-bodied  and  not  accustomed  to  be  waited  on. 

I  took  rain-coat  and  rubbers,  and  followed  her  down 
stairs.  She  unbolted  the  great  front  door  and  let  me 
out  into  the  early  morning  sunshine.  I  stood  on  the 
upper  step  to  look  around  me,  to  take  in  every  detail 
of  my  surroundings,  only  guessed  at  the  night  before. 

Maples  and  birch  mingled  with  evergreens,  crowd 
ing  close  to  the  house,  filled  the  foreground  on  each 
side.  In  front,  an  unkempt  driveway  curved  across 
a  large  neglected  lawn,  set  with  lindens  and  pines,  and 
lost  itself  in  woods  at  the  left.  Between  the  tree  trunks 
on  the  lawn,  at  a  distance  of  perhaps  five  hundred 
feet,  I  saw  the  broad  gleaming  waters  of  the  St.  Law 
rence  broken  by  two  long  islands.  Behind  the  farther 
one  I  saw  the  smoke  of  some  large  steamer. 

I  looked  up  at  the  house.  It  was  a  storey  and  a  half, 
long,  low,  white.  The  three  large  windows  on  each 
side  of  the  entrance  were  provided  with  ponderous 
wooden  shutters  banded  with  iron.  There  were  four 
dormers  in  the  gently  sloping  roof  and  two  large  cen 
tral  chimneys,  besides  two  or  three  smaller  ones  in 
various  parts  of  the  roof.  Such  was  the  old  manor 
of  Lamoral. 

A  path  partly  overgrown  with  bushes  led  around 
the  house;  following  it,  I  found  that  the  main  building 
was  the  least  part  of  the  whole  structure.  Two  addi 
tions,  varying  in  length  and  height,  provided  as  many 
sharp  gables,  and  gave  it  the  inconsequent  charm  of 
the  unexpected. 

Beyond,  in  a  tangle  of  cedars  and  hemlocks,  were 


92  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

some  low  square  out-buildings  with  black  hip-roofs. 
Still  following  the  path,  that  turned  to  the  left  away 
from  the  outbuildings,  I  found  myself  in  the  woods 
that  from  all  sides  encroached  upon  the  house.  It  was 
a  joy  to  be  in  them  at  that  early  hour.  The  air  was 
filled  with  sunshine  and  crisp  with  the  breath  of  van 
ishing  snow.  The  sky  was  deep  blue  as  seen  between 
the  interlocking  branches,  wet  and  darkened,  of  the 
crowding  trees. 

Before  me  I  saw  what  looked  to  be  another  out 
building,  also  white,  and  evidently  the  goal  for  this 
path  through  the  woods.  It  proved  to  be  a  small 
chapel,  half  in  ruins;  the  door  was  time-stained  and 
barred  with  iron;  the  window  glass  was  gone;  only 
the  delicate  wooden  traceries  of  the  frame  were 
intact.  I  mounted  a  pile  of  building  stone  beneath 
one  of  the  windows,  and  by  dint  of  standing  on  tiptoe 
I  could  look  over  the  window  ledge  to  the  farther  end 
of  the  chapel.  To  my  amazement  I  saw  that  it  had 
been,  in  part,  a  mortuary  chapel.  Several  slabs  were 
lying  about  as  if  they  had  been  pried  off,  and  the  deep 
stone-lined  graves  were  empty.  The  place  fairly  gave 
me  the  creeps;  it  was  so  unexpected  to  find  this  re 
minder  in  the  hour  of  the  day's  resurrection. 

What  a  wilderness  was  this  Seigniory  of  Lamoral! 
And  yet  —  I  liked  it.  I  liked  its  wildness,  the  un 
trammelled  growth  of  its  trees,  underbrush  and  vines; 
the  dignified  simplicity  of  its  old  manor  that  matched 
the  simple  sincerity  of  its  present  inmates.  I  felt 
somehow  akin  to  all  of  it,  and  I  could  say  with  truth, 
that  I  should  be  glad  to  remain  a  part  of  it.  But  I 
recalled  what  Mrs.  Macleod  said  about  our  removal 
to  the  farm,  and  that  remembrance  forbade  my  in 
dulging  in  any  thoughts  of  permanency. 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  93 

"  Stranger  I  am  in  it,  and  stranger  I  must  remain 
to  it,  and  at  no  distant  time  l  move  on/  I  suppose." 
This  was  my  thought. 

A  noise  of  soft  runnings-to-and-fro  in  the  under 
brush  startled  me.  I  jumped  down  from  the  pile  of 
stones  and  started  for  the  house,  but  not  before  the 
dogs  found  me  and  announced  the  fact  with  con 
tinued  and  energetic  yelpings.  Jamie  greeted  me 
from  the  doorway. 

"  Good  morning!  You  Ve  stolen  a  march  on  me; 
I  wanted  to  show  you  the  chapel  in  the  woods.  You 
will  find  this  old  place  as  good  as  a  two  volume  novel." 

"  What  a  wilderness  it  is!  " 

"  That 's  what  Cale  is  here  for.  He  is  only  waiting 
for  Ewart  to  come  to  bring  order  out  of  this  chaos. 
I  hope  you  noticed  that  cut  through  the  woods  across 
the  creek?  " 

"  Yes,  it 's  lovely;  those  are  the  Laurentians  I  see, 
are  n't  they?  " 

"  You  're  right.  The  cut  is  Gale's  doing.  He  said 
the  first  thing  necessary  was  to  let  in  light  and  air, 
and  provide  drainage.  But  he  won't  do  much  more 
till  Ewart  comes  —  he  does  n't  want  to." 

"  When  is  Mr.  Ewart  coming?  " 

"  We  expect  him  sometime  the  last  of  November. 
He  was  in  England  when  we  last  heard  from  him  — 
here  's  Marie;  breakfast  is  ready."     He  opened  the 
door  to  the  dining-room  and  Mrs.  Macleod  greeted 
me  from  the  head  of  the  table. 

I  loved  the  dining-room;  the  side  windows  looked 
into  a  thicket  of  spruce  and  hemlock,  and  from  the 
front  ones  I  could  see  under  the  great-branched 
lindens  to  the  St.  Lawrence. 

After  breakfast  Mrs.  Macleod  showej  me  what  she 


94  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

called  the  "  offices  ",  also  the  large  winter  kitchen  at 
the  end  of  the  central  passageway,  and  the  method 
by  which  both  are  heated :  a  range  of  curious  make  is 
set  into  the  wall  in  such  a  way  that  the  iron  back 
forms  a  portion  of  the  wall  of  the  passageway. 

"  We  came  out  here  early  in  the  spring  and  found 
this  arrangement  perfect  for  heating  the  passageway. 
Angelique  has  moved  in  this  morning  from  the  sum 
mer  kitchen ;  she  says  the  first  snowfall  is  her  warning. 
I  have  yet  to  experience  a  Canadian  winter." 

She  showed  me  all  over  the  house.  It  was  simple 
in  arrangement  and  lacked  many  things  to  make  it 
comfortable.  Above,  in  the  main  house,  there  were 
four  large  bedrooms  with  dormer  windows  and  wide 
shallow  fireplaces.  The  walls  were  whitewashed  and 
sloping  as  in  my  room.  The  furniture  was  sparse 
but  old  and  substantial.  There  were  no  bed  furnish 
ings  or  hangings  of  any  kind.  All  the  rooms  were 
laid  with  rag  carpets  of  beautiful  coloring  and  unique 
design. 

"  Jamie  and  I  have  rooms  in  the  long  corridor 
where  yours  is,"  said  Mrs.  Macleod;  "it's  much 
cosier  there ;  we  actually  have  curtains  to  our  beds, 
which  seems  a  bit  like  home." 

I  was  looking  out  of  one  of  the  dormer  windows  as 
she  spoke,  and  saw  little  Pete  on  the  white  Percheron, 
galloping  clumsily  up  the  driveway.  He  saw  me  and 
waved  a  yellow  envelope.  I  knew  that  little  yellow 
flag  to  be  a  telegram.  A  sudden  heart-throb  warned 
me  that  it  might  bring  some  word  that  would  shorten 
my  stay  in  this  old  manor,  and  banish  all  three  to 
Doctor  Rugvie's  farm. 

A  few  minutes  afterwards,  we  heard  Jamie's  voice 
calling  from  fig  lower  passageway: 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  95 

"  Mother,  where  are  you?  —  Oh,  you  're  there, 
Marcia!  "  he  said,  as  I  leaned  over  the  stair  rail. 
"  Here  's  a  telegram  from  Ewart,  and  news  by  letter 
—  no  end  of  it.  Come  on  down." 

"  Come  away,"  said  Mrs.  Macleod  quickly.  I  saw 
her  cheeks  flush  with  excitement.  On  entering  the 
living-room  we  found  Jamie  in  high  feather.  He 
flourished  the  telegram  joyously. 

"  Oh,  I  say,  mother,  it 's  great!  Ewart  telegraphs 
he  will  be  here  by  the  fifteenth  of  November  and  that 
Doctor  Rugvie  will  come  with  him.  And  here  's  a 
letter  from  him,  written  two  weeks  ago,  and  he  says 
that  by  now  all  the  cases  of  books  should  be  in  Mon 
treal,  plus  two  French  coach  horses  at  the  Royal 
Stables.  He  says  Cale  is  to  go  up  for  them.  He  tells 
me  to  open  the  cases,  and  gives  you  free  hand  to  fur 
bish  up  in  any  way  you  see  fit,  to  make  things  com 
fortable  for  the  winter." 

"  My  dear  boy,  what  an  avalanche  of  responsibil 
ity!  I  don't  know  that  I  feel  competent  to  carry  out 
his  wishes."  She  looked  so  hopelessly  helpless  that 
her  son  laughed  outright. 

"  And  when  and  where  do  I  come  hi?  "  I  asked 
merrily;  "  am  I  to  continue  to  be  the  cipher  I  've 
been  since  my  arrival?  " 

"  You  forgot  Marcia,  now  did  n't  you,  mother?  " 

"  I  think  I  did,  dear.  Do  you  really  think  you  can 
attempt  all  this?  "  she  asked  rather  anxiously. 

"  Do  it!  Of  course  I  can  —  every  bit,  if  only  you 
will  let  me." 

"  Hurrah  for  the  States!  "  Jamie  cried  triumph 
antly;  "  Marcia,  you  're  a  trump,"  he  added  em 
phatically. 

Mrs.  Macleod  turned  to  me,  saying  half  in  apology: 


g6  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

"  I  really  have  no  initiative,  my  dear;  and  when 
so  many  demands  are  made  upon  me  unexpectedly,  I 
simply  can  do  nothing  —  just  turn  on  a  pivot,  Jamie 
says;  and  the  very  fact  that  I  am  a  beneficiary  here 
would  be  an  obstacle  in  carrying  out  these  plans.  It 
is  so  different  in  my  own  home  in  Crieff." 

I  heard  the  note  of  homesickness  in  her  voice,  and 
it  dawned  upon  me  that  there  are  others  in  the  world 
who  may  feel  themselves  strangers  in  it.  My  heart 
went  out  to  her  for  her  loneliness  in  this  far  away  land 
of  French  Canada. 

"  Well,  so  am  I  a  beneficiary;  so  is  Cale  and  the 
whole  household;  and  if  only  you  will  let  me,  I  '11 
make  Mr.  Ewart  himself  feel  he  is  a  beneficiary  in 
his  own  house,"  I  retorted  gayly.  "  And  as  for  Doctor 
Rugvie,  we  '11  see  whether  his  farm  will  have  such 
attractions  for  him  after  he  has  been  our  guest." 

Mrs.  Macleod  laid  her  hand  on  my  shoulder  and 
smiled,  saying  with  a  sigh  of  relief: 

"  If  you  will  only  take  the  generalship,  Marcia,  you 
will  find  in  me  a  good  aide-de-camp." 

Jamie  said  nothing,  but  he  gave  me  a  look  that  was 
with  me  all  that  day  and  many  following.  It  spurred 
me  to  do  my  best. 


V 


HOW  I  enjoyed  the  next  three  weeks!  Jamie  said 
the  household  activity  had  been  "  switched 
off "  until  the  arrival  of  the  letter  and 
telegram  from  Mr.  Ewart;  these,  he  declared,  made 
the  connection  and  started  a  current.  Its  energy 
made  itself  pleasurably  felt  in  every  member  of  the 
household.  Cale  was  twice  in  Montreal,  on  a  per 
sonally  conducted  .tour,  for  the  coach  horses.  Big 
Pete  was  putting  on  double  windows  all  over  the 
house,  stuffing  the  cracks  with  moss,  piling  cords  of 
winter  wood,  hauling  grain  and,  during  the  long  eve 
nings,  enjoying  himself  by  cutting  up  the  Canadian 
grown  tobacco,  mixing  it  with  a  little  molasses,  and 
storing  it  for  his  winter  solace.  Angelique  was  making 
the  kitchen  to  shine,  and  Marie  was  helping  Mrs. 
Macleod. 

For  the  first  week  Jamie  and  I  lived,  in  part,  on 
the  road  between  Lamoral  and  Richelieu-en-Bas. 
With  little  Pete  for  driver,  an  old  cart-horse  and  a  long 
low-bodied  wagon  carried  us,  sometimes  twice  a  day, 
to  the  village.  We  spent  hours  in  the  one  "  goods  " 
shop  of  the  place.  It  was  a  long,  low,  dark  room 
stocked  to  the  ceiling  on  both  walls  and  on  shelves 
down  the  middle,  with  all  varieties  of  cotton,  woolen 
and  silk  goods,  some  of  modern  manufacture  but 
more  of  past  decades.  In  the  dim  background,  a 
broad  flight  of  stairs,  bisecting  on  a  landing,  led  to 


98  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

the  gallery  where  were  piled  higgledy-piggledy  every 
Canadian  want  in  the  way  of  furnishings,  from  old- 
fashioned  bellows  and  all  wool  blankets,  to  English- 
ware  toilet  sets  that  must  have  found  storage  there  for 
a  generation,  and  no  customer  till  Jamie  and  I  ap 
peared  to  claim  them.  There,  too,  I  unearthed  a  bolt 
of  English  chintz. 

In  a  tiny  front  room  of  a  tiny  house  on  the  market 
place,  I  found  an  old  dealer  in  skins.  He  and  his  wife 
made  some  up  for  me  into  small  foot-rugs  for  the 
bedrooms.  Acting  on  Angelique's  suggestion,  I  vis 
ited  old  Mere  Guillardeau's  daughter.  I  found  her 
in  her  cabin  at  her  rag  carpet  loom,  and  bought  two 
rolls  which  she  was  just  about  to  leave  with  the 
"  goods  "  merchant  to  sell  on  commission.  I  wanted 
them  to  make  the  long  passageways  more  comfort 
able. 

I  revelled  in  each  day's  work  which  was  as  good  as 
play  to  me.  I  gloried  in  being  able  to  spend  the  money 
for  what  was  needed  to  make  the  house  comfortable, 
without  the  burden  of  having  to  earn  it;  just  as  I  re 
joiced  in  the  abundant  wholesome  food  that  now  nour 
ished  me,  without  impoverishing  my  pocket.  There 
were  times  when  I  found  myself  almost  grateful  for 
the  discipline  and  denial  of  those  years  in  the  city;  for, 
against  that  background,  my  present  life  seemed  one 
of  care-free  luxury.  I  began  to  feel  young ;  and  it  was 
a  pleasure  to  know  I  was  needed  and  helpful. 

The  shortening  November  days,  the  strengthening 
cold,  that  closed  the  creek  and  was  beginning  to  bind 
the  river,  the  gray  unlifting  skies,  I  welcomed  as  a  foil 
to  the  cosy  evenings  in  the  dining-room  where  Mrs. 
Macleod  and  I  sewed  and  stitched,  and  planned  for 
the  various  rooms,  Jamie  smoked  and  jeered  or  en- 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  99 

couraged,  and  the  four  dogs  watched  every  movement 
on  our  part,  with  an  ear  cocked  for  little  Pete  who  was 
cracking  butternuts  in  the  kitchen. 

The  life  in  the  manor  was  so  peaceful,  so  sheltered, 
so  normal.  Every  member  of  the  household  was  busy 
with  work  during  the  day,  and  the  night  brought  with 
it  well-earned  rest,  and  a  sense  of  comfort  and  security 
in  the  flame-lighted  rooms. 

Often  after  going  up  to  my  bedroom,  which  Marie 
kept  acceptably  warm  for  me,  I  used  to  sit  before  the 
open  grate  stove  for  an  hour  before  going  to  bed,  just 
to  enjoy  the  white- walled  peace  around  me,  the  night 
silence  without,  the  restful  quiet  of  the  old  manor 
within.  At  such  times  I  found  myself  dreading  the 
"  foreign  invasion  ",  as  I  termed  in  jest  the  coming 
of  the  owner  of  Lamoral  and  Doctor  Rugvie.  To  the 
first  I  gave  little  thought;  the  second  was  rarely  ab 
sent  from  my  consciousness.  "  How  will  it  all  end?  " 
I  asked  myself  time  and  time  again  while  counting 
off  the  days  before  his  arrival.  What  should  I  find 
out?  What  would  the  knowledge  lead  to? 

"  Who  am  I  ?  Who  —  who?  "  I  said  to  myself  over 
and  over  again  during  those  three  weeks  of  preparation. 
And  at  night,  creeping  into  my  bed— -than  which 
there  could  be  none  better,  for  it  was  in  three  layers: 
spring,  feather  bed  and  hair  mattress  —  and  drawing 
up  the  blankets  and  comforter  preparatory  for  the 
sharp  frost  of  the  early  morning,  I  cried  out  in  re 
volt: 

"  I  don't  care  a  rap  who  I  may  prove  to  be !  If  only 
this  peaceful  sense  of  security  will  last,  I  want  to  re 
main  Marck  Farrell  to  the  end." 

But  I  knew  it  could  not  last.  I  hinted  as  much  to 
Jamie  Macleod  only  three  days  before  the  fifteenth  of 


ioo  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

November.  We  were  making  our  last  trip  to  the  vil 
lage  for  some  extra  supplies  for  Angelique.  We  were 
alone,  and  I  was  driving. 

"  Jamie,"  I  said  suddenly,  after  the  old  and  trust 
worthy  cart-horse,  newly  and  sharply  shod  for  the  ice, 
had  taken  us  safely  over  the  frozen  creek,  "  I  wish 
this  might  last,  don't  you?  " 

He  looked  at  me  a  little  doubtfully. 

"  You  mean  the  kind  of  life  we  're  living  now? 
Yes,"  —  he  hesitated, — "for  some  reasons  I  do; 
but  there  are  others,  and  for  those  it  is  better  that  the 
change  should  come." 

"  What  others?  "  I  was  at  times  boldly  inquisitive 
of  Jamie;  I  took  liberties  with  his  youth. 

"  You  would  n't  understand  them  if  I  told  you. 
Wait  till  the  others  come  and  you  '11  see,  in  part, 
why." 

"  Do  you  know,"  I  continued,  my  words  following 
my  thought,  "  that  you  Ve  never  told  me  a  thing 
about  Doctor  Rugvie  and  Mr.  Ewart?  " 

"Not  told  you  anything?  Why,  I  thought  I'd 
said  enough  that  first  evening  for  you  to  know  as 
much  of  them  as  you  can  without  seeing  them." 

"  No,  you  have  n't;  you  've  been  like  a  clam  so  far 
as  telling  me  anything  about  their  looks,  or  age,  or 
—  or  anything  —  " 

"  Oh,  own  up,  now;  you  mean  you  want  to  know 
if  they  're  married  or  single?  "  He  was  beginning  to 
tease. 

"  Of  course  I  do.  This  old  manor  has  had  a  good 
many  surprises  for  me  already  in  these  three  weeks, 
you,  for  one  — 

He  threw  back  his  head,  laughing  heartily. 

"  —  And   the   '  elderly   Scotchwoman  ',  and   Cale 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  101 

for  a  third ;  and  if  you  would  give  me  a  hint  as  to  the 
matrimonial  standing  of  the  two  from  over-seas,  I 
should  feel  fortified  against  any  future  petticoat  in 
vasion  of  their  wives,  or  children,  or  sweethearts." 

Jamie  laughed  uproariously. 

"  Oh,  Guy  Mannering,  hear  her!  I  thought  you 
said  you  saw  Doctor  Rugvie  in  the  hospital." 

"  So  I  did;  but  it  was  only  a  glimpse,  and  a  long  way 
off,  as  he  was  passing  through  another  ward." 

He  turned  to  me  quickly.  "  It 's  Doctor  Rugvie 
you  want  to  know  about  then?  Why  about  him,  rather 
than  Ewart?  " 

"  Because,  —  ('  Be  cautious,'  I  warned  myself),  — 
I  happen  to  have  known  of  him." 

"  Well,  fire  away,  and  I  '11  answer  to  the  best  of 
my  knowledge.  I  believe  a  woman  lives,  moves  and 
has  her  being  in  details,"  he  said  a  little  scornfully. 

"  Have  you  just  found  that  out?  "  I  retorted. 
"  Well,  you  have  n't  cut  all  your  wisdom  teeth  yet. 
And  now,  as  you  seem  to  think  it 's  Doctor  Rugvie 
I  'm  most  interested  in,  we  '11  begin  with  your  Mr. 
Ewart."  I  changed  my  tactics,  for  I  feared  I  had 
shown  too  much  eagerness  for  information  about  Doc 
tor  Rugvie. 

"  My  Mr.  Ewart!  "  He  smiled  to  himself  in  a  way 
that  exasperated  me. 

"  Yes,  your  Mr.  Ewart.  How  old  is  he?  For  all 
you  've  told  me  he  might  be  a  grandfather." 

"Ewart  —  a  grandfather!"  Again  he  laughed, 
provokingly  as  I  thought.  I  kept  silence. 

"  Honestly,  Marcia,  I  don't  know  Ewart's  age, 
and  "  -  he  was  suddenly  serious  —  "for  all  I  know, 
he  may  be  a  grandfather." 

"  For  all  you  know!    What  do  you  mean  by  that?  " 


io2  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

"  I  mean  I  never  seriously  gave  Gordon  E wart's 
age  a  thought.  When  I  am  with  him  he  seems,  some 
how,  as  young  as  I  —  younger  in  one  way,  for  he  has 
such  splendid  health.  But  I  suppose  he  really  is  old 
enough  to  be  my  father  —  forty-five  or  six,  possibly; 
I  don't  know." 

"Is  he  married?  " 

Jamie  brought  his  hand  down  upon  his  knee  with 
such  a  whack  that  the  old  cart-horse  gave  a  queer 
hop-skip-and-jump.  We  both  laughed  at  his  antic. 

"  There  you  have  me,  Marcia.  I  'm  floored  in  your 
first  round  of  questions.  I  don't  know  exactly  - 

"  Exactly!  It  seems  to  me  that,  marriage  being  an 
exact  science,  if  a  man  is  married  why  he  is  —  and 
no  ifs  and  buts." 

"  That 's  so."  Jamie  spoke  seriously  and  nodded 
wisely.  "  I  never  heard  it  put  in  just  those  words, 
'  exact  science ',  but  come  to  think  of  it,  you  're 
right." 

"  Well,  is  he?  " 

"  Is  he  what?  " 

"  Married.  Are  we  to  expect  later  on  a  Mrs.  Ewart 
at  Lamoral?  " 

"  Great  Scott,  no!  "  said  Jamie  emphatically. 
"  Look  here,  Marcia,  I  hate  to  tell  tales  that  possibly, 
and  probably,  have  no  foundation  — 

"  Who  wants  you  to  tell  tales?  "  I  said  indignantly. 
"  I  won't  hear  you  now  whatever  you  say.  You  think 
a  woman  has  no  honor  in  such  things." 

"  Oh,  well,  you  '11  have  to  hear  it  sometime,  I  sup 
pose,  in  the  village  —  " 

"  I  won't  — •  and  I  won't  hear  you  either,"  I  said, 
and  closed  my  ears  with  my  fingers;  but  in  vain,  for 
he  fairly  shouted  at  me: 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  103 

"  I  say,  I  don't  know  whether  he  's  married  or 
not  —  " 

"  And  I  say  I  don't  care  - 

"  Well,  you  heard  that  anyway,"  he  shouted  again 
diabolically;  "  here  's  another:  they  say  - 

"  Keep  still;   the  whole  village  can  hear  you  —  " 

"  We  're  not  within  a  mile  of  the  village;  take  your 
fingers  out  of  your  ears  if  you  don't  want  me  to 
shout." 

"  Not  till  you  stop  shouting."  He  lowered  his  voice 
then,  and  I  unstopped  my  ears. 

"  I  say,  Marcia,  I  believe  it 's  all  a  rotten  lot  of 
damned  gossip  —  " 

"  Why,  Jamie  Macleod!  I  never  heard  you  use  so 
strong  an  expression." 

"  I  don't  care;  it 's  my  way  of  letting  off  steam. 
Mother  is  n't  round." 

We  both  laughed  and  grew  good-humored  again. 

"  I  never  thought  a  Scotsman,  who  takes  porridge 
regularly  at  nine  o'clock  every  evening,  could 
swear —  " 

"  Oh,  did  n't  you!  Where  are  your  wisdom  teeth? 
Live  and  learn,  Marcia." 

"  Quits,  Jamie."    He  chuckled. 

"  Honestly,  Marcia,  I  could  n't  answer  you  in  any 
other  way.  Ewart  has  never  opened  his  lips  to  me 
about  his  intimate  personal  life ;  he  has  no  need  to  — 
for,  of  course,  there  is  a  great  difference  in  our  ages 
even  if  he  is  such  a  companion.  And  then,  you  know, 
I  only  saw  him  that  one  week  in  Crieff  when  he  was 
with  us,  and  I  was  a  little  chap  —  it  was  just  after 
father  left  us  —  and  he  was  no  end  good  to  me.  And 
the  second  time  was  this  year  in  June  when  he 
stayed  a  week  here  and  then  took  me  up  to  Andre. 


104  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

He  was  with  us  a  month  in  camp;  that  is  where  I 
came  to  know  him  so  well.  He  's  an  Oxford  man, 
and  that 's  what  I  was  aiming  at  when  —  when  my 
health  funked.  He  seems  to  understand  how  hard  it 
is  to  me  to  give  it  all  up.  I  don't  object  to  telling 
you  it  was  Doctor  Rugvie  who  was  going  to  put  me 
through." 

"  Oh,  Jamie!  "  It  was  all  I  could  say,  for  I  had 
known  during  our  few  weeks  of  an  intimacy,  which 
circumstances  warranted,  that  some  great  disappoint 
ment  had  been  his  —  wholly  apart  from  his  being 
handicapped  by  his  inheritance. 

"  About  Ewart,"  he  went  on;  "  you  know  a  village 
is  a  village,  and  a  dish  of  gossip  is  meat  and  drink  for 
all  alike.  It 's  only  a  rumor  anyway,  but  it  crops  out 
at  odd  times  and  in  the  queerest  places  that  he  was 
married  and  divorced,  and  that  he  has  a  son  living 
whom  he  is  educating  in  Europe.  I  don't  believe  one 
bally  word  of  it,  and  I  don't  want  you  to." 

"  Well,  I  won't  to  please  you." 

"  Now,  if  you  want  to  know  about  Doctor  Rugvie, 
I  can  tell  you.  He  lives,  you  might  say,  in  the  open. 
Ewart  strikes  me  as  the  kind  that  takes  to  covert 
more.  Doctor  Rugvie  is  older  too." 

"  He  must  be  fifty  if  he  's  a  day." 

"  He  's  fifty-four  —  and  he  is  a  widower,  a  straight 
out  and  out  one." 

"  I  know  that." 

"  Oh,  you  do!    Who  told  you?  " 

"  Delia  Beaseley." 

"  Is  she  a  widow?  "  Jamie  asked  slyly. 

"  Now,  no  nonsense,  Jamie  Macleod."  I  spoke 
severely. 

"Nonsense!     I   was   only  putting   two    and   two 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  105 

together  logically;  you  said  the  Doctor  trusted 
her- 

"  And  well  he  may.  No,  she  is  n't  a  widow,"  I 
said  shortly. 

"  That  settles  it;  you  need  n't  be  so  touchy  about 
it." 

"  Has  he  any  children?  "  I  asked,  ignoring  the  ad 
monition. 

"No;  that 's  his  other  great  sorrow.  He  lost  both 
his  son  and  daughter.  Do  you  know,  I  can't  help 
thinking  he  's  doing  all  this  for  them?  " 

"  You  mean  the  farm  arrangement?  " 

"  Yes,  and  us  —  he  's  been  such  a  friend  to  mother 
and  me.  Oh,  he  's  great!  "  He  was  lost  suddenly  in 
one  of  his  silences.  I  had  already  learned  never  to 
permit  myself  the  liberty  of  breaking  them. 

We  drove  into  the  village,  and,  while  Jamie  was  with 
the  grocer,  "  stoking  ",  as  he  put  it  for  the  coming 
week,  I  was  wondering  what  to  make  of  Delia  B ease- 
ley's  theory  about  the  "  conscience  money  "  and  its 
connection  with  the  farm.  Was  it  to  aid  in  carrying 
out  the  Doctor's  plans  for  helpfulness?  From  what 
Jamie  Macleod  had  told  me,  I  came  to  the  conclusion 
that  neither  he  nor  his  mother  knew  anything  of  that 
financial  source.  How  strange  it  seemed  to  know  of 
this  tangled  skein  of  circumstance,  the  right  thread 
of  which  I  could  not  grasp ! 

While  thinking  of  this,  I  became  aware  of  the  noise 
of  a  cheap  graphophone  carrying  a  melody  with  its 
raucous  voice;  the  sounds  came  from  a  cabaret  just 
below  the  steamboat  landing-place.  I  listened  closely 
to  catch  the  words;  the  melody,  even  in  this  cheap 
reproduction,  was  a  beautiful  one. 

"  O  Canada,  pays  de  mon  amour  —  " 


io6  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

I  caught  those  words  distinctly,  and  was  amusing 
myself  with  this  expression  of  patriotism  when  Jamie 
came  out  of  the  shop. 

"  What 's  up?  "  he  asked,  noticing  my  listening  at 
titude. 

"  Hark!  "    He  listened  intently. 

"  Oh,  that!  "  he  said  with  a  smile  of  recognition 
as  he  stepped  into  the  wagon;  "  you  should  hear 
Ewart  sing  it.  I  Ve  heard  him  in  camp  and  seen  old 
Andre  fairly  weep  at  hearing  it.  I  see  you  are  discov 
ering  Richelieu-en-Bas;  but  you  should  make  ac 
quaintance  with  the  apple-boat." 

"  What 's  that?  " 

"  It 's  a  month  too  late  now  for  it;  it  moors  just 
below  the  cabaret  by  the  lowest  level  of  the  bank. 
It 's  a  fine  old  sloop,  and  the  hull  is  filled  with  the 
reddest,  roundest,  biggest  apples  that  you  Ve  ever 
seen.  I  come  down  here  once  a  day  regularly  while 
she  is  here,  just  to  get  the  fragrance  into  my  nostrils, 
to  walk  the  narrow  plank  to  her  deck,  and  touch  — 
and  taste  to  my  satisfaction.  We  put  in  ten  barrels  at 
the  manor." 

I  could  see  that  picture  in  my  mind's  eye:  the  old 
apple-boat,  the  heaped  up  apples,  the  hull  glowing 
with  their  color,  the  green  river  bank,  the  blue  waters 
of  the  St.  Lawrence,  the  islands  for  a  background  — 
and  the  October  air  spicy  with  the  fragrance  of  Po 
mona's  blessed  gift! 

We  put  the  old  cart-horse  through  his  best  paces 
in  order  to  be  at  home  before  sunset.  We  had  all  the 
books  to  arrange  in  the  next  two  days  for  we  had  left 
them  until  the  last.  Pete  was  opening  the  boxes  when 
we  came  away. 


VI 

AFTER  supper  we  went  over  the  house  to  see 
the  various  furnishings  by  firelight.  Pete  had 
built  roaring  fires  in  each  bedroom  to  take  off 
the  chill,  and  was  to  keep  them  going  till  the  rooms 
should  be  occupied  on  the  night  of  the  fifteenth ;  this 
was  necessary  against  the  increasing  cold. 

I  confess  I  had  worked  to  some  purpose,  and 
Mrs.  Macleod  and  every  member  of  the  household 
seconded  me  with  might  and  main.  Now,  in  a  body, 
the  eight  of  us  trooped  from  room  to  room,  to  enjoy 
the  sight  of  the  labor  of  our  hands.  Angelique  was 
stolidly  content.  Marie  was  volubly  enthusiastic. 
Cale,  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  took  in  all  with  keen 
appreciative  eyes,  and  expressed  his  satisfaction  in  a 
few  words: 

"  'T  ain't  every  man  can  get  a  welcome  home  like 
this." 

"  You  're  right,  Cale,"  said  Jamie,  "  and  there 
are  n't  so  many  men  it 's  worth  doing  all  this  for." 

We  stood  together,  admiring,  —  and  I  was  happy. 
I  had  spent  but  eighty-seven  dollars,  "  pieces  ",  and 
the  rooms  did  look  so  inviting!  The  windows  and 
beds  were  hung  with  the  English  chintz,  which  was 
old  fashioned,  a  mixture  of  red  and  white  with  a  touch 
of  gray.  I  had  sent  to  Montreal  for  fine  lamb's  wool 
coverlets  for  every  bed.  The  village  furnished  plain 
deal  tables  for  writing.  Jamie  stained  them  dark 


io8  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

oak,  and  I  put  on  desk  pads  and  writing  utensils. 
Two  easy  chairs  cushioned  with  the  chintz  were  in 
each  room.  The  old  English-ware  toilet  sets  of  white 
and  gold  looked  really  stately  on  the  old-fashioned 
stands.  Mrs.  Macleod  sewed,  with  Marie's  help,  until 
she  had  provided  every  window  with  an  inner  set  of 
white  dimity  curtains,  every  washstand,  every  bureau 
and  table  with  a  cover.  She  made  sheets  by  the 
dozen  which  Angelique  and  Marie  laundered.  Pete 
had  polished  the  fine  old  brass  andirons,  that  fur 
nished  each  fireplace,  till  they  shone.  My  bedroom 
foot-rugs  were  pronounced  a  success,  and  graced  the 
rag  carpets  beside  each  bed ;  they  were  of  coarse  gray 
and  white  fur.  Marie  had  found  in  the  garret  some 
long-unused  white  china  candlesticks  of  curious  de 
sign,  like  those  in  my  room;  a  pair  stood  on  each 
bureau. 

We  were  standing  about  in  the  Doctor's  room,  ad 
miring.  The  firelight  played  on  the  white  walls, 
deepened  the  red  in  the  hangings  to  crimson,  shone  in 
the  ball-topped  andirons,  and  lighted  the  pleased 
satisfied  faces  about  me.  A  sudden  thought  struck  a 
chill  to  my  heart: 

"  What  a  contrast  between  this  room  and  that  poor 
basement  in  V —  Court  where,  twenty-six  years  ago, 
the  man  who  is  going  to  enjoy  this  comfort  fought 
for  my  mother's  life,  and  succeeded  in  giving  me 
mine!  " 

I  left  the  room  abruptly.    Jamie  called  after  me: 
"  Where  are  you  going,  Marcia?  " 
"  Down  stairs  to  begin  with  the  books." 
"  Hold  on  till  I  come;  you  can't  handle  them  alone. 
Cale,  put  the  screens  before  the  fires.    Come  on  down, 
mother." 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  109 

The  passageway  was  stacked  high  with  books  along 
the  walls.  Cale  had  brought  them  in,  and  these  were 
not  the  half.  I  was  looking  at  them  when  the  others 
came  down. 

"  You  took  them  out,  Cale,  how  many  do  you  think 
there  are?  " 

"  I  cal'lated  'bout  three  hundred  in  a  box.  We  've 
opened  five,  and  there  's  two  we  ain't  opened." 

Jamie  started  to  gather  up  an  armful,  but  Cale 
took  them  from  him.  His  tenderness  and  care  of  him 
were  wonderful  to  see. 

"  No  yer  don't!  If  there  's  to  be  any  fetchin'  and 
carryin',  I  'm  the  one  ter  do  it." 

"  And  I  'm  the  one  to  place  and  classify.  I  want 
to  prove  that  I  did  n't  work  five  years  in  the  New 
York  Library  for  nothing."  I  stayed  with  Cale  while 
he  was  gathering  up  the  books. 

"  I  cal'late  you  was  paid  a  good  price  fer  handlin' 
other  folks'  brains."  Cale  spoke  tentatively,  and  I 
humored  him;  I  like  to  give  news  of  myself  piece 
meal. 

"  Of  course,  I  did,  Cale;  I  had  nine  dollars  a  week." 

"  Hm  —  pretty  small  wages  fer  a  treadmill  like 
thet!  "  He  spoke  almost  scornfully. 

"  Oh,  that  was  better  than  I  had  in  the  beginning. 
What  would  you  say  to  four  dollars  a  week,  Cale?  " 

"  With  room  and  keep?  " 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it;  board  and  room  and  clothes  had 
to  come  out  of  that." 

"  Hm  -  ".  He  looked  at  me  keenly,  but  made  no 
reply.  "  You  tend  ter  putting  'em  on  the  shelves, 
an'  I  '11  take  'em  all  in.  'T  ain't  fit  work  fer  women, 
all  such  lif tin' ;  books  has  heft,  if  what 's  in  'em  is 
pretty  light  weight  sometimes." 


no  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

"  What  would  you  say  about  the  owner  of  all  these 
books,  Cale?  Let 's  guess  what  he  's  like,"  I  said, 
laughing,  as  I  lingered  to  hear  what  he  would  say. 
But  he  was  non-committal. 

"  I  could  n't  guess  fer  I  ain't  seen  the  insides.  I  'm 
glad  he  's  coming,  though;  I  want  ter  get  down  to 
some  real  work  'fore  long.  Wai,  we  '11  see  what  he  's 
like  in  two  days  now.  Pete  an'  I  have  got  to  drive 
over  ter  Richelieu-en-Haut  —  durn  me,  if  I  can  see 
why  they  don't  call  it  Upper  Richelieu!  —  an'  meet 
the  Quebec  express." 

"  They  won't  get  here  till  long  after  dark,  then." 

"  No.  —  Here,  jest  put  a  couple  more  on  each  arm, 
will  you?  " 

I  accommodated  him,  and  we  went  into  the  living- 
room.  Jamie  looked  rather  glum.  Sometimes,  I 
know,  he  feels  as  if  he  had  no  place  in  all  this  prepa 
ration. 

"  Now,  Jamie,  let  me  plan  —  "I  began,  but  he 
interrupted  me: 

"  Maitresse  femme,"  he  muttered;  then  he  smiled 
on  me,  but  I  paid  no  heed. 

"  You  sit  at  the  library  table;  Cale  will  bring  in  the 
booksandpile  themroundit;  you  will  sort  them  accord 
ing  to  subject,  and  I  will  put  them  on  the  shelves." 

"  Go  ahead,  I  'm  ready." 

To  help  us,  we  pressed  Angelique  and  Marie 
into  service.  In  a  little  while  we  had  five  hundred 
books  piled  about  the  table.  These  were  as  many  as 
Mrs.  Macleod  and  I  could  handle  for  the  evening,  so 
we  dismissed  the  others. 

It  was  pleasant  work,  filling  the  empty  shelves; 
moreover,  I  was  in  my  element.  It  was  good  to  see 
books  about  again;  I  owed  so  much  to  them. 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  in 

"  This  is  what  the  room  needed,"  I  said,  placing 
the  last  of  the  historical  works  on  a  lower  shelf. 

"  Yes;  what  a  difference  it  makes,  doesn't  it? 
Oh,  I  say,  mother,  here  's  one  of  your  late  favor 
ites!  " 

"  What  is  it?  " 

"  Memoirs  of  Doctor  Barnardo." 

"  I  must  read  them  again." 

"  Who  was  Doctor  Barnardo?  "  I  asked;  I  was 
curious. 

"  If  you  don't  know  of  him  and  his  London  work, 
then  you  have  a  treat  before  you  in  this  book."  Mrs. 
Macleod  spoke  with  unusual  enthusiasm. 

"  And  he  was  Ewart's  friend  too.  I  might  have 
known  I  should  find  this  among  his  books.  It  always 
seems  to  me  as  if  it  were  '  books  and  the  man  '.  Show 
me  what  books  are  a  man's  familiars,  and  I  '11  tell 
you  his  characteristics." 

"  No,  really,  can  you  do  that?  "  I  asked,  surprised 
at  this  dictum  from  such  youthful  lips. 

"  Yes,  in  a  general  way  I  can.  Look  at  this  for 
instance."  He  held  out  a  volume.  "  The  man  who 
has  this  book  for  an  inner  possession,  and  also  on  his 
shelves,  is  a  thinker,  broad-minded,  scholarly,  human 
to  an  intense  degree  — 

"  What  is  it?  "  I  said,  impatient  to  see. 

"  Something  you  don't  know,  I  '11  wager;  it  is  n't 
a  woman's  book." 

"  Now,  Jamie  Macleod,  read  your  characteristics 
of  men,  if  you  can,  by  the  books  they  read  and  love, 
but,  please,  please,  keep  within  your  masculine 
'  sphere  of  influence  ',  and  don't  presume  to  say  what 
is  or  what  is  n't  a  woman's  book.  I  know  a  good 
deal  more  about  those  than  you  do  —  what  is  the 


ii2  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

book  anyway? "  I  confess  his  overbearing  ways 
about  women  provoke  me  at  times.  But  he  paid  no 
heed  to  my  little  temper. 

"  It 's  dear  old  Murray's  '  Rise  of  the  Greek  Epic  ' 
-  it  comes  next  to  the  Bible.  It 's  an  English  book; 
you  would  n't  be  apt  to  read  it." 

"  Oh,  would  n't  I?  "  I  exclaimed,  and  determined 
another  forty-eight  hours  should  not  pass  without  my 
having  made  myself  familiar  with  the  rise  of  the  Greek 
epic,  and  the  fall  of  it,  for  that  matter.  I  swallowed 
my  indignation,  for  the  truth  was  I  had  not  heard 
of  it. 

"  And  here  's  another  —  American,  this  time,  and 
right  up  to  date.  I  '11  wager  you  never  heard  of  this 
either.  Would  n't  I  know  just  by  the  title  it  would 
be  Ewart's!  " 

"  How  would  you  know?  " 

"  Oh,  because  any  man  of  his  calibre  would  have 
it." 

And  I  was  no  wiser  than  before.  I  was  beginning 
to  realize  that  there  was  a  whole  world  of  experience 
of  which  I  knew  nothing;  that,  in  my  struggle  to  exist 
in  the  conditions  of  the  city  so  far  away,  I  had  grown 
self-centered  and,  in  consequence,  narrow,  not  open 
to  the  world  of  others.  Jamie  Macleod,  with  his 
twenty-three  years,  was  opening  my  inward  eye.  I 
can't  say  that  what  I  saw  of  myself  was  pleasing. 

"  What  is  the  book?  "  I  asked,  after  a  moment's 
silence  in  which  Mrs.  Macleod  was  busy  with  the 
"  Memoirs  ",  and  Jamie  was  looking  over  titles. 

"  '  The  Anthracite  Coal  Industry  '." 

"  Well,  give  it  to  me;  I  '11  classify  it  with  '  Eco 
nomics  and  Sociology '.  There  will  be  more  of  this 
kind,  I  'm  sure.  Let 's  go  on  with  the  work  or  we 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  113 

shan't  be  through  before  midnight.  Look  up  the 
1  Lives  '  and  '  Letters  ',  and  '  Autobiographies  '  next. 
I  want  to  put  them  on  the  upper  shelf  - 

"  I  know;  "  he  nodded  approvingly;  "  so  they  will 
be  at  your  elbow  when,  of  a  winter's  evening,  you  want 
to  reach  out  your  hand,  without  much  trouble,  and 
find  a  companion.  Well,  give  me  a  little  time  to  look 
them  over." 

I  watched  him  for  a  few  minutes,  as  he  took  up 
book  after  book,  examined  the  title,  sometimes  turned 
the  leaves  rapidly,  and  again  opened  to  some  par 
ticular  page  and  lost  himself  for  a  moment.  Jamie 
was  showing  me  another  side  than  that  to  which  I 
had  grown  accustomed  in  our  daily  intercourse.  I 
sat  down  while  I  was  waiting,  for  I  was  tired.  Mrs. 
Macleod  was  reading. 

"  Are  you  ready  now?  "  I  asked,  after  waiting  a 
quarter  of  an  hour,  and  still  no  sound  from  behind  the 
pile  of  books  across  the  table. 

"  M-hm,  in  a  minute." 

His  mother  looked  up,  and  we  both  saw  that  he  was 
absorbed  in  something.  Mrs.  Macleod  smiled  indul 
gently. 

"  That 's  always  his  way  with  a  book  —  lost  to 
everything  around  him.  He  would  n't  hear  a  word 
we  said  if  we  were  to  talk  here  for  an  hour." 

"  I  '11  make  him  hear."  I  spoke  positively,  and 
again  Mrs.  Macleod  smiled. 

"  Jamie  — •  I  would  like  a  few  books,  the  '  Lives  ' 
and  '  Letters  '." 

For  answer  he  burst  into  a  roar  that  roused  the 
dogs  under  the  table.  He  slapped  his  hand  on  his 
knee,  threw  his  leg  over  the  arm  of  the  easy  chair,  and 
settled  into  an  attitude  that  indicated,  there  would  be 


ii4  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

no  more  work  gotten  out  of  him  for  the  rest  of  the 
evening.  Suddenly  he  shouted  again. 

"  Here  's  a  man  for  you!  "  he  said  joyfully. 

"  Who?  "  I  demanded,  but  might  have  spared  my 
self  the  question.  There  was  another  interval  of 
silence,  followed  by  an  uproarious  outburst: 

"  Oh,  I  do  love  Stevenson's  '  damns  '  !  They  're 
great !  Hear  this  — 

He  read  a  portion  of  a  letter  which  included  a 
choicely  selected  expletive. 

"  Jamie!  "  It  was  a  decided  protest  on  his  mother's 
part;  but  I  laughed  aloud,  for  I,  too,  knew  what  he 
meant.  I,  too,  loved  the  varied  and  picturesque 
"  damns  "  of  those  letters  that  had  been  so  much  to 
me  in  the  past  few  years.  As  I  looked  at  Jamie,  an 
other  Scotsman,  with  the  thin  bright  eager  face,  I 
knew  at  once  that,  without  realizing  it,  I  had  con 
nected  his  appearance  with  that  of  Robert  Louis 
Stevenson,  his  countryman.  And  how  like  the  two 
spirits  were! 

"  I  wonder,"  I  said  to  myself,  "  I  wonder  if  this 
same  Jamie  Macleod  also  has  the  inner  impulse  to 
write!  "  And,  having  said  that  in  thought,  I  looked 
at  Jamie  Macleod  through  different  glasses. 

We  let  him  mercifully  alone ;  but  I  went  on  with  my 
work,  reading  titles,  classifying,  placing,  finding  genu 
ine  pleasure  in  speculating  on  the  "  calibre  "  of  the 
owner. 

At  nine,  Marie  entered  with  the  porridge;  Cale 
followed  her. 

"  Here  endeth  the  first  chapter,"  I  said  to  Cale. 
"  We  '11  try  to  get  all  the  books  on  the  shelves  to 
morrow;  then  we  can  have  one  day  of  rest  before  they 
come." 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  115 

"  You  kinder  speak  as  if  two  extra  men  in  the  fam'ly 
would  make  some  difference,"  said  Cale,  smiling  down 
at  me  from  his  place  by  the  mantel. 

"  It  will  make  a  difference  I  shall  not  like,  Cale. 
There  '11  be  no  more  cosy  evening-ends  with  porridge, 
after  the  lord  of  the  manor  comes." 

"  What 's  that  you  say?  "  Jamie  was  roused  at 
last.  I  thought  I  could  do  it. 

"  Nothing  in  particular;  only  Cale  and  I  were 
saying  how  different  it  would  be  when  Mr.  Ewart 
comes." 

"You  bet  it  will!"  said  Jamie  emphatically. 
"  You  won't  know  this  house,"  —  he  took  up  his  por 
ridge,  — "  and  Ewart  won't  know  it  either  since 
you  've  had  your  hand  on  it,  Marcia."  This  I  per 
ceived  to  be  a  sop. 

"  Thet  's  so,"  said  Cale,  with  emphasis.  "  I  never 
see  what  a  difference  all  thet  calico  an'  fixin's  has 
made;  an'  my  room  looks  as  warm  with  them  red 
blankets  and  foot-rugs!  It  beats  me  how  a  woman 
can  take  an  old  house  like  this,  an'  make  it  look  as  if 
it  had  been  lived  in  always.  I  thank  you"  he  said, 
looking  hard  at  me,  "  fer  all  the  comfort  you  've 
worked  inter  my  room." 

"  You  have  n't  thanked  me  the  way  I  want  to  be 
thanked,  Cale,"  I  said,  smiling  up  at  him. 

"  I  done  the  best  I  could,"  he  replied  with  such  a 
crestfallen  air  that  we  laughed. 

"  The  only  way  you  can  thank  me  is  to  call  me 
'  Marcia '.  I  Ve  wanted  to  ask  you  to,  ever  since  our 
first  drive  together  up  from  the  steamboat  landing." 

"Sho!  —  Have  you?" 

He  looked  at  me  intently  for  a  minute;  then  he 
spoke  slowly  and  we  all  knew  with  deep  feeling: 


n6  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

"  You  're  name  's  all  right;  but  you've  made  such  a 
lot  of  happiness  in  this  house  since  you  come,  I  'd  like 
ter  have  my  own  name  fer  you  — 

"  What 's  that?  "  I  said. 

"  I  'd  like  ter  call  you  '  Happy ',  if  you  don't 
mind." 

I  know  I  turned  white,  but  I  controlled  myself. 
Was  it  possible  he  knew!  It  could  not  be.  I  dared 
not  assume  that  he  knew  and  refuse  him.  I  made 
an  effort  to  answer  in  my  usual  voice: 

"  Of  course  I  don't,  Cale — only,  I  hardly  deserve  it; 
all  I  've  done  is  just  in  '  the  day's  work  ',  you  know." 

"  Not  all,"  he  said,  putting  down  his  emptied  bowl 
and  turning  to  the  door;  "  no  wages  thet  I  ever  heard 
of  will  buy  good-will  an'  the  happiness  you  've  put 
inter  all  this  work." 

"  Oh,  Cale,  I  don't  deserve  this  —  But  he  was 
gone  without  the  usual  good  night  to  any  of  us. 

"  You  do  too,"  said  Jamie  shortly,  and,  reaching 
for  his  pipe,  went  off  into  the  dining-room. 

Mrs.  Macleod  laid  her  hand  on  my  shoulder. 
"  They  mean  it,  Marcia;  good  night,  my  dear." 

For  the  first  time  she  leaned  over  and  kissed  me. 
I  ran  up  to  my  room  without  any  good  night  on  my 
part.  I  needed  to  be  alone  after  what  Cale  had  said. 
Did  he  know?  Could  he  know?  Or  was  it  merely 
chance  that  he  chose  that  name?  Over  and  over  again 
I  asked  myself  these  questions  —  and  could  find  no 
answer. 

Late  at  night  I  made  ready  for  bed.  I  drew  the 
curtains  and  looked  out.  The  window  ledge  was  piled 
two  inches  high  with  snow;  against  the  panes  I  saw 
the  soft  white  swirl  and  heard  the  hushed,  inter 
mittent  brushing  of  the  drifting  storm. 


VII 


THE  snow  fell  lightly  but  steadily  all  night  and 
the  next  day.  Just  after  sunset  the  leaden 
skies  cleared,  and  the  starred  firmamental  blue 
of  a  Canadian  winter  night  replaced  them.  Before 
six,  Cale  and  Peter  were  off  on,their  nine  mile  drive  to 
Richelieu-en-Haut  to  meet  the  Quebec  express.  They 
drove  in  a  low  comfortable  double  "pung",  lined  with 
fur  rugs  and  piled  with  robes;  a  skeleton  truck  trailed 
behind  for  luggage.  The  yoke  of  bells  jangled  cheer 
fully  in  the  'dry  crisping  air,  for  the  Percherons  were 
lively  —  the  French  coach  horses  were  not  ready  for 
the  northern  snows  —  and  freely  tossed  their  heads 
as  they  played  a  little  before  plunging  into  the  light 
drifts. 

After  supper  I  went  to  my  room,  making  the  excuse 
that  I  had  a  bit  of  work  to  finish.  All  my  thoughts 
centered  on  Doctor  Rugvie  whose  coming  was  so 
momentous  to  me.  While  I  sewed,  I  made  a  dozen 
plans  for  approaching  him  on  the  subject  of  the  pa 
pers,  and  rejected  each  in  turn  as  not  serving  my  pur 
pose.  Finally,  my  work  being  finished,  I  sat  quiet, 
with  a  tensity  of  quietness  that  showed  itself  in  my 
listening  attitude  and  tightly  clasped  hands.  It  was 
nearly  time  for  the  sound  of  the  returning  bells.  At 
last,  —  it  was  nearly  nine,  —  I  heard  them  close  to  the 
house  and,  hearing  them,  I  knew  intuitively  that  my 
life,  hitherto  so  detached  from  others,  was  about  to  be 


n8  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

linked  through  strange  circumstance  —  the  Doctor's 
coming  —  to  some  unknown  personality  in  the  past. 
I  knew  this ;  how  I  knew,  I  cannot  say. 

I  heard  Jamie  calling  to  me  from  the  lower  passage 
way.  I  opened  my  door  but  did  not  cross  the  thresh 
old.  I  stood  listening. 

Suddenly  the  dogs  went  mad  with  joy.  I  heard 
Jamie's  voice  in  joyous  greeting.  I  heard  men's 
voices,  Gale's  loudest  in  giving  some  order  to  Peter; 
then  Mrs.  Macleod's.  The  confusion  grew  apace  when 
Angelique  and  Marie  joined  their  French  welcome 
to  the  English  one.  Listening  so,  I  felt  shut  out  from 
it  all;  felt  myself  a  stranger  again  in  the  environment 
to  which  I  had  so  soon  wonted  myself.  Then  I  heard 
Jamie's  voice  calling: 

"  Marcia,  Marcia  Farrell,  where  are  you?  " 

He  was  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs  looking  up  at  me 
as  I  came  down,  and  scarcely  waited  for  me  to  reach 
the  last  step  before  saying: 

"  Ewart,  this  is  Miss  Farrell;  Marcia  —  my  friend, 
the  '  lord  of  the  manor  '."  He  spoke  with  such  teasing 
emphasis  that  I  could  have  boxed  his  ears. 

I  think  the  "  lord  of  the  manor  "  intended  to  shake 
hands  with  me;  at  least,  his  hand  was  promptly  ex 
tended;  but  before  I  could  take  it,  it  dropped  at  his 
side,  for  Jamie  was  claiming  me  for  the  second  intro 
duction: 

"  Allow  me  to  present  to  you  the  result  of  the  ad 
vertisement,  Doctor!  " 

"  What?  "  The  pleasant  voice  held  a  note  of  sur 
prised  interrogation.  My  hand  was  taken  in  a  firm 
professional  clasp,  and  I  looked  up  into  the  face  of  the 
great  surgeon  who  had  troubled  himself  with  me  so 
far  as  to  give  me  the  chance  to  exist.  For  the  life  of 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  119 

me,  I  could  not  find  the  right  word  of  welcome  in  these 
circumstances,  and  the  only  result  of  the  instantaneous 
mental  effort  to  find  it  was,  that  those  words  of  Delia 
Beaseley's,  which  I  heard  as  I  was  regaining  conscious 
ness  in  V—  -  Court:  "She's  the  living  image", 
flashed  into  my  consciousness  with  the  illuminating 
suddenness  of  a  re-appearing  electric  signboard.  And, 
seeing  them,  rather  than  hearing  them,  I  looked  up 
into  the  fine  homely  face  and  smiled  my  welcome.  It 
was  the  only  one  I  had  at  my  command  just  then. 

Something  indefinable,  intangible,  perhaps  best 
expressed  as  the  visible  diffused  wave-current  of  con 
sciousness'  wireless  telegraphy,  showed  in  his  face. 
Puzzled,  concentrated  thought  was  evident  from  the 
sudden  contraction  of  the  forehead.  Nor  did  the  look 
"  clear  up  "  ;  it  remained  as  he  greeted  me  —  and  I 
knew  he  had  not  the  key  to  interpret  the  message,  sent 
thus  to  him  across  an  interval  of  twenty-six  years. 

"  Well,  Mrs.  Macleod,  it 's  surely  a  success,"  he 
said,  releasing  my  hand. 

"  Success?  Oh,  no  end!  "  Jamie  interrupted  him  in 
his  joyous  excitement.  "  You  '11  see!  " 

"  Come,  Boy,  give  your  mother  a  chance,"  said  the 
Doctor,  laughing. 

"  We  have  practical  witness  that  Marcia  is  all  that 
Jamie  claims  she  is."  Mrs.  Macleod  spoke  enthusi 
astically  for  her,  and  to  cover  my  embarrassment  I 
suggested  that  the  Doctor  should  go  at  once  to  his 
room. 

"  Oh,  she  's  canny!  She  wants  you  to  see  the  im 
provements,"  Jamie  cried,  as  he  rushed  upstairs  two 
steps  at  a  time  after  Mr.  Ewart  who,  attended  by  the 
dogs,  was  investigating  the  region  of  the  bedrooms. 
I  think  he  doubted  their  comfort.  The  Doctor  fol- 


120  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

lowed,  and  soon  I  heard  his  voice  praising  everything, 
with  Jamie's  lending  a  running  accompaniment  of 
jesting  comment.  It  occurred  to  me  then,  that  I  had 
not  heard  the  "  lord  of  the  manor  "  utter  a  word. 
Cale  and  Peter  came  in  with  the  trunks,  chests,  gun- 
cases,  with  bags  of  ice-hockey  sticks,  kits,  snow-shoes 
and  skis  —  indeed,  all  the  sporting  paraphernalia  for 
a  Canadian  winter. 

Within  ten  minutes,'my  clean  passageway,  laid  with 
the  brand-new  rag  carpet,  was  piled  high  with  these 
masculine  belongings,  and  the  snow  from  eight  mascu 
line  boots  was  melting  and  wetting  the  pretty  strip 
into  dismal  sogginess!  I  began  to  understand  wrhy 
the  passageways  in  the  manor  were  laid  with  flagging, 
and  I  determined  I  would  have  the  lower  carpet  taken 
up  in  the  morning,  that  Jamie  might  not  laugh  at  me. 

As  Cale  set  down  the  last  chest,  he  must  have  taken 
note  of  my  despair,  for  he  spoke  encouragingly : 

"  Makes  a  lot  of  difference  in  a  house  havin'  so 
many  men  folks  round." 

"  I  should  think  so,  Cale,  look  at  that  carpet!  " 

"  Sho!  It  don't  look  more  'n  fit  for  mop-rags,  an' 
they  in  the  house  scurce  ten  minutes.  Guess  't  '11 
have  ter  come  up  ter-morrer,  an'  I  '11  see  that  't  is 
up." 

"  And  it  will  stay  up;  but  it  did  look  so  neat  and 
cosy  —  and  now  see  that!  "  I  included  in  a  glance 
the  entire  mass  of  luggage  and  sporting  outfit. 

"  Good  deal  of  truck  for  one  man,  but  I  guess  he 
can  handle  it  all ;  seems  a  likely  enough  sort  of  feller. 
I  had  to  introduce  myself,  you  might  say,  for  he  an5 
Pete  was  talkin'  so  fast  in  French  that  I  could  n't  get 
in  a  word  edgewise  at  furst.  You  'd  have  thought  the 
old  manor  barns  was  afire,  and  they  was  trying  to  get 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  121 

the  bosses  out.  I  managed  to  have  my  say,  though, 
'fore  we  struck  the  river  road." 

"  I  have  n't  had  a  good  look  at  him  —  Jamie  did  n't 
give  me  the  chance." 

"  Wai,  I  can't  say  as  I  have  neither.  He  's  pretty 
quiet,  but  I  noticed  he  hit  the  nail  on  the  head  every 
time  he  did  speak.  The  one  they  call  Doctor  Rugvie 
is  some  different;  he  was  like  a  schoolboy  let  loose 
when  he  got  into  the  pung.  Guess  Mr.  Ewart  won't 
wait  long  'fore  he  '11  have  a  sleigh,  as  is  a  sleigh,  to 
match  the  French  coach  bosses,  from  what  I  heard. 
The  Doctor  had  his  little  joke  about  a  pung  for  a 
manor  house.  I  Ve  got  to  go  over  again  ter-morrer 
to  get  the  rest  of  the  truck." 

"Oh,   Gale,  more!" 

He  nodded,  and,  with  a  significant  upward  motion 
of  his  thumb,  made  his  exit  at  the  kitchen  end.  I 
slipped  into  the  dining-room  to  see  that  all  was  in 
readiness  for  the  extra  supper.  I  actually  did  not 
know  what  to  do  with  myself,  what  was  my  place, 
or  where  "I  belonged  in  the  household,  now  that  the 
owner  of  Lamoral  and  his  friend  were  here.  I  looked 
about:  the  flames  from  the  pine  cones  were  leaping 
in  the  fireplace,  the  curtains  were  drawn  close,  the 
room  was  filled  with  a  resinous  forest  fragrance,  for 
I  had  placed  large  branches  of  white  pine  in  some 
antiquated  milk  jugs  of  glazed  red  clay,  which  I  found 
in  one  of  the  unused  dairy  rooms,  and  set  them  on 
each  end  of  the  mantel. 

When  I  heard  Jamie  and  the  Doctor  on  the  stairs,  I 
left  by  way  of  the  kitchen  and,  passing  through  thatand 
the  bare  offices  between  it  and  the  living-room,  slipped 
into  the  latter  to  inspect  it.  Here  also  the  fire  was 
blazing,  the  wax  candles  in  the  sconces  were  lighted. 


122  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

The  yellow  sofa  was  drawn  in  front  of  the  fireplace, 
but  good  eight  feet  from  it.  At  either  end  were  the  easy 
chairs,  and  at  the  right  of  the  chimney,  nearest  the 
door  into  the  kitchen  offices,  was  a  low  ample  tea  table 
covered  with  a  white  linen  cloth,  set  with  plain  white 
china,  a  nickel-plated  tea-kettle  and  lamp.  Behind 
the  sofa,  along  the  length  of  its  straight  long  back, 
stood  the  library  table  furnished  with  writing  pad  and 
inkstand,  a  wooden  bookrack  filled  with  Jamie's  favor 
ites  and  mine,  and  a  bowl  of  red  geranium  blossoms. 
I  was  satisfied  with  my  work. 

Around  the  room,  even  between  the  windows,  the 
more  than  two  thousand  books  in  their  cases  formed 
a  rich  dado  of  finely  blended  colors  —  the  deep  royal 
blue  and  dark  reds  in  morocco,  the  yellow-white  imi 
tation  of  parchment,  —  parchment  itself  in  several 
instances,  —  the  light  faun  and  reddish  brown  of  half 
calf;  even  shagreen  was  there,  and  the  limp  bronze- 
gilt  leather  of  Chinese  bindings.  Jamie  told  me  that 
many  of  the  editions  were  rare. 

It  seemed  to  me  in  my  ignorance,  that  there  could 
be  no  more  beautiful  room  than  this  simple,  book- 
lined,  wood-panelled  parlor  in  the  old  manor  of  La- 
moral.  I  felt  an  ownership  in  it,  for  I  had  helped  in 
part  to  create  the  intimate  atmosphere  that  I  knew 
must  be  like  home,  —  something  I  had  dreamed  of, 
but  never  expected  to  make  real.  The  owner,  whose 
voice  I  heard  for  the  first  time  talking  to  the  dogs  as 
he  came  down  stairs,  presented  himself  to  me  at  that 
moment  as  an  outsider,  an  intruder.  I  waited  until 
I  heard  him  close  the  dining-room  door;  then  I  went 
up  stairs  again  to  my  own  room. 


VIII 

ID  ID  not  light  the  candles.  The  firelight  showed 
through  the  mica  in  the  stove  grate.  I  sat  down 
by  the  window  and  looked  out.  A  full  moon 
shone  high  and  clear  above  the  dark  irregular  outline 
of  the  massed  treetops  in  the  woods  across  the  creek, 
now  covered  with  ice  and  blanketed  with  white.  The 
great  hemlock  branches,  crowding  close  to  the  house, 
were  drooping,  snow-laden.  The  moonlight,  reflected 
in  them,  flashed  diamond  dust  from  the  upper 
branches;  beneath  the  lower  ones  it  cast  violet  shad 
ows  on  the  snow. 

"  What  next?  "  I  was  thinking,  and  might  have 
spared  myself  the  trouble  of  that  thought,  for  just 
then  Mrs.  Macleod  knocked  at  the  door  and  came  in. 

"  In  the  dark?  Marcia,  my  dear,  we  need  you 
down  stairs." 

"  Of  course  I  '11  come,  Mrs.  Macleod,  if  you  wish 
me  to,  but  I  don't  quite  see  how,  as  your  companion 
and  assistant,  I  am  needed  now  down  stairs.  I  shall 
feel  as  if  I  were  not  earning  my  salt,  just  playing 
lady." 

Now,  can  any  one  tell  me  why  the  spirit  of  revolt 
at  the  change  in  my  position  in  this  house,  through 
the  coming  of  the  owner  and  his  friend,  should  have 
materialized  in  just  this  ungracious  speech?  I  was 
ashamed  of  myself  the  moment  I  had  given  it  utter 
ance.  Such  a  mean  sentiment!  Not  worthy  of  a 


124  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

woman  of  twenty-six.  I  was  thankful  she  could  not 
see  my  face. 

She  hesitated  before  replying.  When  she  spoke  I 
heard  a  note  of  displeasure  in  her  voice. 

"  I  need  you  now,  perhaps,  more  than  before.  With 
these  guests  in  the  house,  there  is  more  responsibility 
than  during  the  last  three  weeks." 

"  If  only  they  were  guests!  "  The  perverse  spirit 
was  still  at  work  within  me.  "  But  we  are  the 
guests  now,  and  I  don't  quite  see  what  my  work 
is  to  be;  my  position  seems  to  be  an  anomalous 
one." 

"  It  may  seem  so  to  you,"  she  replied  quietly.  I 
knew  by  the  tone  of  her  voice  she  was  exercising 
great  self  control,  and  that  had  the  candles  been 
lighted  I  should  have  seen  her  cheeks  flush  a  deep 
pink;  "  but  evidently  it  is  perfectly  clear  to  Doctor 
Rugvie.  The  position  is  his  creation.  I  think  you 
can  trust  him.  -  •  Are  you  coming?  " 

The  rebuke  was  well  deserved,  and,  in  accepting  it, 
my  respect  for  her  was  doubled. 

"  Just  let  me  get  my  work,"  I  said,  fumbling  in 
my  basket  for  some  petty  crochet.  She  said  noth 
ing,  and  in  silence  we  went  down  stairs  together,  she 
little  realizing  that,  in  referring  to  Doctor  Rugvie  as 
the  one  to  whom  I  was  indebted  for  being  here,  she 
twisted  some  fibre  in  my  mental  make-up  and  caused 
it  to  vibrate  painfully.  Had  I  but  known  it,  I  had 
been  keyed  to  this  moment  ever  since  hearing  Delia 
Beaseley's  account  of  my  mother's  death  —  keyed 
too  long  and  at  too  high  a  pitch.  Something  had  to 
give  way;  hence  my  mood  of  apparent  revolt,  because 
I  could  not  live  in  unchanged  circumstances  in  this 
manor  of  Lamoral. 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  125 

As  we  entered  the  living-room  the  three  pipes  were 
in  full  blast. 

"  Permitted?  "  said  the  Doctor,  waving  his  towards 
us  as  he  rose.  Mr.  Ewart,  also,  rose  and  came  towards 
us.  In  the  manner  of  his  action  I  saw  that,  already,  he 
had  taken  his  rightful  place  as  host.  He  held  out  his 
hand  in  greeting,  and  I  took  it. 

"  Sit  here,  Miss  Farrell,  by  me,"  he  motioned  to  the 
corner  of  the  sofa  next  his  easy  chair,  "  and  tell  me 
how  you  have  managed  to  accomplish  a  home  — 
in  three  weeks.  Mrs.  Macleod  and  Jamie  have  been 
giving  you  all  the  credit  for  this  transformation.  How 
did  you  do  it?  " 

He  put  me  at  ease  at  once,  for  what  he  said  sounded 
both  cordial  and  sincere.  The  tone  of  voice  challenged 
me  instantly  to  be  as  sincere  with  him. 

"  Perhaps  it 's  because  I  never  have  had  the  chance 
to  make  what  you  call  a  '  home  '  before,  and  besides," 
I  looked  up  from  my  sofa  corner  and  dared  to  say  the 
truth,  "  it  was  such  a  pleasure  to  spend  some  money 
that  I  did  n't  have  to  earn  by  hard  work;  this  was 
play  for  me.  But,  truly,  Mrs.  Macleod  and  Jamie  are 
not  fair  to  themselves;  they  not  only  helped,  but  in 
spired  me." 

"  Oh,  woman,  woman!  "  said  the  Doctor,  laughing; 
"  shopping  is  the  characteristic  symptom  of  the  sex!  " 

"  Talk  about  inspiration,"  said  Jamie;  "  Marcia 
put  mother  and  me  through  our  best  paces.  I  can 
tell  you  we  conjugated:  I  must  hustle,  Thou  must 
hustle,  He  must  hustle,  We  must  hustle,  You  must 
hustle,  They  must  hustle,  for  three  weeks,"  he  said 
emphatically. 

"  You  seem  to  have  thriven  on  it,"  said  the 
Doctor. 


126  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

"  Your  work  was  in  the  New  York  Library,  Miss 
Farrell?  "  It  was  Mr.  Ewart  who  spoke. 

"  Yes,  in  a  branch;  I  was  there  for  five  years." 

"  Who  told  you  that,  Gordon?  "  Jamie  demanded. 

"  Who?  —  Who  but  Gale?  " 

Mrs.  Macleod  laughed  outright  at  that,  and  Jamie 
and  I  joined  her;  we  could  not  help  it.  The  mere 
inflection  of  Mr.  Ewart's  voice,  told  us  he  had  suc 
cumbed  on  the  way  over  to  our  omniscient  One.  I 
saw  that,  quiet  as  he  was,  he  had  a  keen  sense  of 
humor. 

"  Yes,"  he  continued,  "  Gale  made  my  acquaint 
ance  on  the  platform,  and  half  way  on  the  road  he 
took  occasion  to  give  me  some  information  concern 
ing  my  household." 

"  Oh,  I  know  that  too,"  I  said,  "  for  Gale  confided 
to  me  immediately  on  his  arrival  that,  to  use  his  own 
expression,  he  could  n't  get  in  a  '  word  edgewise  ',  on 
account  of  the  rapidity  with  which  you  and  Peter 
were  carrying  on  a  conversation  in  French.  I  think 
he  is  jealous  of  every  tongue  but  his  own." 

"  We  had  better  compare  notes,  Miss  Farrell.  I 
concluded  that  Gale  was  a  firm  friend  of  yours  from 
his  remarks." 

"  What  did  he  say?    Do  tell  me." 

"  I  will  —  if  you  '11  agree  to  tell  me  his  comments 
on  my  talk  with  Pierre.  I  believe  Pierre's  words 
fell  over  themselves,  he  had  so  much  to  tell  me." 

"  Hear  —  hear!  "    This  from  Jamie. 

"  I  agree;   tell  me,  please." 

"  I  think  it  was  just  before  we  entered  the  river 
road  —  " 

"  I  know  it  was,  for  he  told  me  so,"  I  said,  enjoying 
the  fun. 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  127 

"  Oh,  he  did!  Well,  perhaps  you  will  be  so  good  as 
to  tell  me,  if  he  told  you  what  he  told  me  you  told 
him?  " 

"  You  would  n't  ask  that  if  you  knew  Cale,"  said 
Jamie,  shaking  his  head  dubiously. 

"No,  he  didn't,"  I  said.  "Cale  is  a  genuine 
Yankee.  What  did  he  say?  " 

"  You  hear  that,  Ewart?    What  did  I  tell  you?  " 

"  Oh,  you've  been  telling,  too,  have  you,  Jamie Mac- 
leod?  He  gave  me  to  understand  that  it  was  he  who 
brought  you  from  the  steamboat  to  the  house;  that 
you  were  born  in  New  York;  that  you  had  been  in 
the  Public  Library  of  that  city;  that  in  consequence 
what  you  did  n't  know  about  books  was,  in  his  esti 
mation,  not  worth  knowing;  that  you  were  just  as 
handy  with  hammer  and  tacks  as  you  were  with  books, 
and  that  you  had  been  '  fixin'  up  '  the  old  manor  till 
it  shone.  I  gathered  further,  that  he  expected  me  to 
be  properly  appreciative  of  the  benefits  conferred 
upon  me  in  this  matter.  As,  up  to  that  time,  I  had 
heard  nothing  of  your  arrival  in  Richelieu-en-Bas, 
and  as  my  friend  here,  Doctor  Rugvie,  was  likewise 
in  the  dark  in  regard  to  your  personality,  you  may 
imagine  our  curiosity;  in  fact,  he  wanted  to  rouse  it, 
and  took  the  best  way  to  do  it." 

"  He  can  do  that,"  said  Mrs.  Macleod,  smiling  at 
this  description  of  Gale's  powers;  "  but  he  rarely 
satisfies  us  in  regard  to  himself.  Of  course,  Jamie  and 
I  respect  his  reticence,  but  I  should  like  to  know  if 
he  has  been  married.  He  is  such  a  character!  I 
should  like  to  know  more  of  his  life." 

"  I  must  take  a  good  look  at  him  to-morrow,"  said 
the  Doctor,  filling  his  pipe. 

"  I  should  n't  know  him  if  I  met  him  on  the  road," 


128  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

said  Mr.  Ewart;  "  for  his  cap  was  drawn  over  his 
forehead,  and  his  beard  and  side  whiskers  were  a 
mask.  Won't  he  come  in  with  us  for  a  few  minutes, 
Jamie?  —  By  the  way,  you  say  that  he  is  always  with 
you  at  porridge,  a  custom  I  hope  you  will  not  depart 
from,  now  I  am  here,  Mrs.  Macleod." 

"  I  shall  want  some  too,"  said  the  Doctor,  whimsi 
cally;  "  it  will  be  like  those  never-to-be-forgotten  days 
in  Crieff  fifteen  years  ago." 

Mrs.  Macleod  said  nothing;  but  she  turned  to  him 
with  such  an  indulgent  smile,  that  I  knew  she  would 
give  the  great  man  anything  in  reason  or  unreason 
for  what  he  had  been,  and  was,  to  her  son  and  to 
herself. 

Jamie  jumped  up  impulsively. 

"  Tell  me  what  he  said,  Marcia,  about  Gordon's 
talk  with  Pierre,  and  then  I  '11  go  and  have  him  in  — 
without  the  porridge,  though,  for  it 's  too  late  to 
night." 

"  He  said  that  if  the  old  manor  barns  had  been 
'  afire  ',  and  Mr.  Ewart  and  Pierre  had  been  trying 
to  get  the  horses  out,  they  could  n't  have  talked 
faster." 

"  That 's  one  on  you,  Ewart,"  said  Jamie,  gleefully. 

Mr.  Ewart  laughed.  "  I  hope  to  make  a  friend  of 
Cale;  I  like  him." 

Jamie  left  the  room,  and  the  talk  drifted  to  other 
things. 

"  Have  you  seen  Mere  Guillardeau  lately?  "  Mr. 
Ewart  asked  of  Mrs.  Macleod. 

"  Not  since  the  last  of  October;  but  Marcia  has 
seen  her  recently." 

He  looked  at  me  inquiringly. 

"  I  bought  the  rag  carpet  strips  of  her  daughter." 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  129 

"  Is  the  old  woman  well?  " 

"  Yes,  she  is  wonderful  for  her  age." 

"  Ninety-nine  next  year,"  said  Mr.  Ewart.  "  What 
a  century  she  has  lived!  " 

"  Andre  pere  must  be  ninety,  then,"  said  Doctor 
Rugvie.  "  How  well  I  remember  him!  He  is  Mere 
Guillardeau's  brother,  as  perhaps  you  know,"  he  said 
turning  to  me.  "  Jamie  must  have  told  you  of  An 
dre." 

"  Yes,  of  Andre  father  and  Andre  son;  you  know 
them  both?  " 

It  was  the  first  time  I  had  spoken  directly  with  the 
Doctor,  although  he  was  the  one  in  the  room  upon 
whom  all  my  thoughts  centered. 

"  For  many  years;  I  saw  him  first  in  Tadoussac, 
just  after  the  Columbian  Exposition  in  Chicago. 
Afterwards,  for  six  consecutive  summers  I  was  in 
camp  with  him  and  his  son  on  the  Upper  Saguenay. 
There  's  none  like  him.  By  the  way,  Miss  Farrell, 
has  Jamie  ever  told  you  how  the  old  guide  Andre  went 
to  the  World's  Fair  at  Chicago?  " 

"  No." 

"  We  '11  get  him  to  tell  you  —  and  us;  I  can  never 
hear  it  too  many  times.  It 's  unique,  and  it  takes 
Jamie  to  tell  it  well.  Andre  told  me  years  ago,  and 
last  summer  he  told  Jamie  and  Mr.  Ewart.  Jamie 
wrote  me  about  it." 

"  I  shall  never  forget  that  night,"  said  Mr.  Ewart. 

He  laid  his  pipe  on  the  mantel  and  stood  back  to 
the  fireplace,  his  hands  clasped  behind  him.  He  was 
not  so  tall  as  Jamie  or  Doctor  Rugvie;  not  so  thin  as 
the  former,  nor  stout  like  the  latter.  He  had  kept 
his  body  in  good  training  for,  as  he  stood  there,  de 
spite  the  few  gray  hairs  on  the  temples,  he  looked  like 


130  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

a  man  of  thirty,  rather  than  one  who  might  be  father 
to  Jamie. 

Jamie  came  in  at  this  moment,  looking  thoroughly 
cross  as  well  as  crestfallen. 

"  He  won't  come,"  he  announced  bluntly,  taking 
his  seat  and  leaning  forward  to  the  fire,  his  long  arms 
resting  on  his  knees,  his  hands  clasped  and  hanging 
between  them.  He  glared  at  the  andirons. 

''What's  the  matter,  Jamie?  "  I  asked;  I  knew 
something  had  gone  wrong. 

"  He  says  he  does  n't  belong  here,  and  all  that  rot. 
Confound  it  all!  When  you  come  up  against  Gale's 
crotchets  you  might  as  well  go  hang  yourself  for  all 
you  can  move  him." 

I  looked  at  Mr.  Ewart.  I  saw  the  gray  eyes  flash 
suddenly. 

"  We  must  change  all  that,  Jamie.  Just  give  him 
leeway  till  I  Ve  looked  about  a  bit  and  struck  root 
into  my  —  home."  I  noticed  the  slight  hesitation 
before  the  word  "home".  "  By  the  way,  it 's  early 
yet." 

*."  Early!  "  Jamie  was  rousing  himself  from  his 
private  sulk.  "  You  might  like  to  know  that  generally 
we  have  porridge  at  nine  and  are  in  bed  by  half -past." 

"  We  '11  change  all  that  too,  Mrs.  Macleod  —  with 
the  Doctor's  permission,  of  course,"  he  said,  sitting 
down  beside  her.  "  We  're  not  going  to  lose  the  pleas 
ure  of  these  long  winter  evenings.  After  porridge, 
we  '11  have  grand  bouts  of  chess,  Jamie,  and  a  little 
music  —  I  see  that  Miss  Farrell  has  not  included  a 
piano  in  her  furnishings  — 

"  Not  for  eighty-seven  dollars,"  I  said,  hoping  he 
would  appreciate  the  financial  fact;  but  he  only 
looked  a  little  mystified,  and  went  on: 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  131 

"  —  And  hours  with  the  books,  and  some  snow- 
shoeing  on  fine  moonlight  nights;  you  '11  see  that  the 
winter  is  none  too  long  in  Canada  —  O  pays  de  mon 
amour!  "  he  said  smiling.  Clasping  his  hands  behind 
his  head,  he  looked  steadily  at  the  leaping  flames. 

The  tone  in  which  he  said  all  this  would  have 
heartened  a  confirmed  pessimist;  upon  Jamie  Mac- 
leod  it  acted  like  new  wine.  His  face  grew  radiant, 
and  the  look  he  gave  his  friend  held  something  of 
worship  in  it. 

Doctor  Rugvie  groaned  audibly  as  he  laid  aside  his 
pipe. 

"  What  is  it,  mon  vieux?  "  said  Mr.  Ewart. 

"  You  make  me  envious,"  he  said,  rising  and  putting 
on  another  log;  "  but  if  I  can  be  with  you  only  one 
week,  I  'm  going  to  make  the  most  of  it.  No  turning 
in  before  eleven-thirty  while  I  'm  here." 

"  I  '11  make  it  one  with  you  any  time  you  say, 
John."  Underneath  the  banter  we  heard  the  under 
current  of  deep  affection.  "  You  '11  be  up  here  two  or 
three  times  during  the  winter,  and  next  summer 
you  've  promised  to  camp  with  Jamie  and  the  Andres, 
father  and  son,  and  me,  for  two  months  on  the  Upper 
Saguenay.  Speaking  of  Andre,  pere,  Jamie,  have  you 
redeemed  the  promise  you  gave  me  last  summer  ?  " 

Jamie  twisted  his  long  length  in  his  chair  before 
answering.  "  Yes,  in  a  way." 

"  What  does  '  in  a  way  '  mean?  What  promise?  " 
asked  the  Doctor  eagerly.  Mr.  Ewart  answered  for 
him. 

"  It  was  about  Andre  —  old  Andre's  story  of  his 
voyage  to  the  Columbian  Exposition  in  'ninety- three. 
Have  you  written  it  up?  " 

"  In  a  way  I  have,  yes." 


132  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

"  Well,  Jamie  Macleod,"  I  exclaimed,  half  impa 
tiently,  "  for  lack  of  originality,  commend  me  to  you 
to-night!  " 

I  was  afraid  I  should  not  hear  the  story.  I  exulted 
in  the  thought  that  my  intuition  concerning  a  second 
R.  L.  Stevenson  in  Jamie  Macleod,  was  to  prove  cor 
rect.  Jamie  looked  over  at  me  and  smiled  provo- 
kingly. 

"  Come  on,  Boy,  out  with  it!  "  said  the  Doctor 
encouragingly.  "  I  'm  willing  to  be  bored  with  your 
literary  style  for  the  sake  of  hearing  dear  old  Andre's 
story  rehashed  by  a  young  aspirant  for  honors." 

"  Have  you  seen  anything  of  this?  "  Mr.  Ewart 
turned  to  Mrs.  Macleod. 

"  I  've  neither  seen  nor  heard  anything  of  this  kind," 
she  replied  with  an  amazed  look  at  her  son.  Jamie 
smiled  again,  this  time  quizzically. 

"  What 's  this  you  've  been  keeping  from  your 
mother,  Boy?  " 

"  Oh,  Jamie,  do  read  it  to  us!  "  I  begged. 

Jamie  laughed  aloud  then,  much  to  the  two  men's 
delight,  as  I  could  see,  and  said  —  tease  that  he  is : 

"  I  Ve  been  waiting  for  Marcia  to  ask  me;  she  is  n't 
apt  to  ask  favors  of  any  one;  but  I  say,  —  "  he  looked 
half  shamefacedly  at  his  friends,  —  "  it 's  rough  on 
me  to  read  anything  of  mine  before  such  critics  as 
you  and  Gordon,  Doctor  Rugvie." 

"  Do  you  good,"  growled  the  Doctor;  "  get  you 
used  to  publicity.  If  we  have  a  genius  in  the  family, 
it 's  best  he  should  sprout  his  pin  feathers  in  our  pres 
ence  before  he  becomes  a  full-fledged  Pegasus.  We 
could  n't  hold  you  down  then,  you  know." 

"  You  've  had  a  lot  of  faith  in  me,  Doctor  —  you 
and  Ewart;  after  all,  Oxford  mightn't  have  done 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  13.3 

what  that  has  for  me.  I  '11  read  it  —  but  I  shall  feel 
like  a  fool,  I  know." 

"  It  won't  hurt  you  to  feel  that  way  once  in  a  while 
at  twenty-three;  it 's  educative,"  said  the  Doctor 
dryly. 

In  the  general  laughter  that  followed,  Jamie  left 
the  room.  He  was  gone 'but  a  minute.  When  he  came 
in,  I  saw  he  was  nervous.  He  cleared  his  throat  once 
or  twice,  after  taking  his  seat  at  the  left  of  the  fireplace, 
and  glanced  anxiously  at  the  candles;  but  they  were 
fresh  at  nine,  and  good  for  two  hours  longer.  Doctor 
Rugvie  looked  at  his  watch. 

"  Half -past  ten;  I  '11  keep  time,  Jamie." 

"  What  do  you  call  it,  Jamie?  "  Mr.  Ewart  asked, 
to  ease  the  evident  embarrassment  in  which  the 
young  Scotsman  found  himself. 

"  '  Andre's  Odyssey  '." 

"  Good!  I  like  that,"  said  the  Doctor;  "that's 
just  what  it  was.  Nothing  like  a  good  title  to  work 
up  to." 

"  Of  course,  I  embellished  a  little  here  and  there, 
but  I  stuck  to  the  facts  and  in  many  places  to  Andre's 
words;  and  I  tried  to  make  the  whole  in  Andre's 
spirit." 

"  Intentions  all  right,  Boy  —  let  us  judge  of  the 
result,"  said  the  Doctor.  He  settled  comfortably  in 
his  chair,  leaned  his  head  on  the  back  and  gazed 
steadily  at  the  wooden  ceiling;  but  I  think  he  managed 
to  keep  an  eye  on  Jamie. 

And,  oh,  that  bright  eager  face,  the  firelight  en 
hancing  its  brightness!  The  hand  that  trembled  de 
spite  his  effort  at  control,  the  slight  flush  on  the  high 
cheek  bones  from  which  the  summer's  tan  had  not 
yet  house-worn!  The  expressive  unsteady  voice  that 


134  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

gradually  steadied  itself  as,  in  the  interest  of  reading, 
self-consciousness  was  forgotten! 

I  bent  low  over  my  crochet;  I  did  not  want  to  look 
again  at  him,  for  I  was  glad,  so  glad  for  him,  for  his 
mother,  for  his  two  friends,  who  had  had  such  faith  in 
him,  for  myself  that  I  could  count  him  as  a  friend. 
This  was,  indeed,  the  beginning  of  fulfilment. 


IX 

FOR  five  and  twenty  years  no  man  had  seen  in 
Tadoussac  old  Andre's  face  nor  heard  his  voice 
upon  the  river's  lower  course.  Both  long  and 
late  within  their  icy  caves  the  winters  dwelt.  The 
spring-tides,  messaging  the  wild  emancipated  water's 
glee,  rushed  down  to  meet  the  short-lived  summer 
joy,  and  autumn  after  autumn  fled  with  torch  of 
flaming  leaf,  reversed,  death-heralding,  far  up  the 
Saguenay's  dark  winding  gorge  —  yet  Andre  came 
no  more  in  all  that  time. 

And  now,  behold  them  both,  in  Tadoussac!  old 
Andre  and  his  dog,  Pierre,  le  brave,  or  was  it  Pierre's 
son?  —  lean-ribbed,  thin-haunched  and  tragic-eyed, 
with  fell  of  wolf,  Pierre!  How  well  they  all  remem 
bered  him,  le  brave!  The  frosts  were  in  his  bones,  oh, 
long  ere  this;  so  Pierre's  offspring,  then?  —  as  large 
as  life!  And  Andre,  too,  old  guide  and  voyageur! 

Of  notches  six  times  ten  had  Andre  cut  within  the 
shaft  of  one  great  pine  that  sings  above  that  wonder 
ful  caprice  of  pool,  and  quiet  river  reach,  and  torrent 
wild,  men  long  have  called  the  Upper  Saguenay.  That 
very  day  when  his  boy's  heart  beat  wild  to  suffocation, 
as  upon  the  bank  he  landed  his  first  salmon  —  nom  de 
Dieu,  no  sunset  glow  e'er  equalled  in  his  eyes  that 
palpitant  and  silver-scaled  mass  of  vibrant  rose !  — 
the  sap  from  that  first  notch  had  oozed;  and  now  they 
said  in  Tadoussac  that  Andre  never  knew  his  age ! 


136  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

Oh,  fools!  What  matter  of  a  few  years  more  or 
less?  He  counted  all  his  years  by  his  heart's  youth, 
as  here  he  was  in  Tadoussac  to  prove. 

"  And  whither  away?  "  - "  To  see  Mere  Guil- 
lardeau?  "  -  "  To  visit  once  again  in  Richelieu-en- 
Bas?  "  —  "  Or  else  Trois  Rivieres  where  long  ago  the 
maskinonge  leaped  for  him?  "  "To  see  the  Seigniory 
of  Lamoral  where  lived  his  grandpere's  seignior,  lived 
and  died?  "  -  "  A  pilgrimage?  Sainte  Anne  de  Beau- 
pre,  then?  "  -  "  Or  Indian  Lorette  just  by  Quebec?  " 
The' questions  multiplied.  "  Come,  tell  us  all."  And 
Andre  told  them  all. 

"  'T  is  true,"  he  said,  "  that  there  upon  the  Upper 
Saguenay  strange  tales  are  rife.  From  o'er  the  dis 
tant  sea  the  English  came  to  camp  within  the  wilds, 
and  I  was  guide.  I  listened  to  their  tales  whene'er  the 
camp-fire  crackled  and  the  snow,  the  feather-snow 
that  melted  from  the  pines,  fell  hissing  on  the  glowing 
arch  of  logs." 

How  Andre  loved  that  sound !  How  dear  to  him  was 
that  one  time  in  all  the  year's  full  round,  when  freeze 
the  nights,  the  sap  grows  chill  and  numb ;  when  warms 
the  rising  sun  at  early  dawn  and  that  sweet  ichor  runs ! 
It  kept  him  young;  within  him  stirred  his  youthful 
forest  hopes  and  joys  with  that  first  mounting  life. 
And  loud  he  laughed,  nor  gave  the  secret  of  his  youth, 
his  woodsman's  lasting  joys. 

He  told  them  how  with  mien  impassive  he  had  lis 
tened  well,  reflected  long  on  what  the  English  said, 
till  May  clouds,  mirrored  in  the  darkling  pools,  fore 
shadowed  substance  for  those  haunting  dreams  of 
glories  human  eyes  had  never  seen ;  for  far  away  upon 
the  Lake  there  stood  a  city  marvellous,  the  English 
said,  —  and  they  to  Andre  never  yet  had  lied,  —  and 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  137 

who  beheld  it  saw  with  naked  eye  the  glories  of  the 
New  Jerusalem. 

And  Andre,  marking  how  the  little  runs  were  earlier 
loosened  from  their  icy  chains,  how  soft  beneath  the 
black  and  sodden  leaves  the  water  trickled  free  with 
here  and  there  a  bubble  rising,  proving  spring  had 
come  —  old  Andre,  listening  so,  the  echo  caught  of 
that  far  song  of  storm-tossed  Michigan  as  its  wild 
waters,  mingling  with  the  rest,  pursued  their  steady 
seaward  course  and  swept  with  undertones  enticing 
past  the  gorge  of  Saguenay  and  sang  in  Andre's  ear: 

"  Viens,  viens,  tu  trouveras 
La  bas,  la  bas, 

Le  royaume  cher  et  merveilleux 
Du  bon  Dieu." 

What  wonder  that  his  simple  woodsman's  heart 
was  moved  to  quick  response !  That  ere  one  moon  had 
waxed  and  waned  his  dugout  was  prepared  for  its 
long  journey  inland,  west  by  south,  along  the  water 
way  of  two  great  Lands!  He  showed  it  now  in  Ta- 
doussac  with  pride:  this  fruit  of  two  Canadian  win 
ters'  toil.  Its  ample  hull  was  shiny  black  with  age. 
Its  prow  sharp-nosed  and  long  to  cleave,  pike-like, 
the  rapids'  wave,  capricious,  treacherous.  Its  stern 
was  truncated  like  tail  of  duck,  the  waters  never 
closed  but  on  it  pressed,  and  sped  it  on  the  river's 
lower  course. 

For  twenty  years  he  watched  the  sturdy  growth 
of  one  great  tree  that  towered  above  its  mates;  and 
when  the  noble  bole,  both  straight  and  strong,  was 
grown  to  such  proportions  that  he  deemed  it  fit  to 
brave  the  rapids,  such  its  curve,  he  laid  the  monarch 
low,  and  hewed,  and  shaped,  and  burned,  and  thickly 


138  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

overlaid  with  pitch,  and  launched  it  on  the  Lower 
Saguenay  —  a  fine,  well-balanced  craft,  his  floating 
camp;  and  this  was  thirty  years  or  more  agone. 

His  destination  now  made  known,  upon  the  river 
bank  a  crowd  eyed  him  agape.  With  pride  he  showed 
to  wondering  Tadoussac  how  he  had  made  provision 
for  his  voyage. 

Along  one  side  was  lashed  a  sapling  pine  with  seam 
less  sail,  three-cornered  and  close  furled;  'twas  fash 
ioned  from  the  stout  flap  of  a  tent.  Along  the  other 
stretched  two  pockets  strong  of  moose  skin,  hair  side 
out  to  shed  the  rain.  The  topmost  one  he  filled  with 
ample  store  of  salmon  smoked  on  his  own  spit  of  ash, 
and  good  supply  of  that  brown  wrinkled  leaf  whose 
qualmy  fragrance,  issuing  from  the  bowl  of  his  loved 
pipe,  had  ever  proved  in  camp  and  wild  the  solace  of 
his  lonely  life. 

Within  the  other  pocket  he  had  placed  his  comrade- 
breadwinner,  his  trusted  gun.  Its  shining  barrel  glis 
tened  cunningly  from  out  the  soft  black  depths,  and 
knowingly,  for  many  a  winged  voyager  of  the  air 
would  it  bring  low  to  beat  the  lucent  wave  to  crimson 
froth  before  the  voyage  were  done.  Both  oars  and 
paddles  of  well-seasoned  ash  he  laid  within  the  dug 
out's  ample  hulk. 

Then  he  was  ready  to  set  out,  and  seek  that  shining 
wonder-city  by  the  Lake  — •  a  "  New  Jerusalem  ",  the 
English  said,  and  they  to  Andre  never  yet  had  lied. 
His  old-time  friends  were  gathered  at  the  pier  to  bid 
him  on  his  quest  "  God  Speed ".  They  cast  the 
painter  loose. 

"  Adieu  —  adieu,"  a  hand  clasp  here  and  there, 
and  then  again:  "  Adieu!  " 

Pierre,  with  forepaws  stemmed  against  the  prow, 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  139 

bayed  musical  farewell.  Old  Andre  turned  and  mur 
muring,  "  Adieu,"  broke  forth  exultantly  in  joyous 
song: 

"  Je  chercherai 
Ld  bas,  la  bas 

La  ville  de  Dieu,  la  merveilleuse; 
Si  je  la  trouve,  quand  je  serai 
De  mon  retour, 

Elle  chante  toujours,  mon  ame  joyeuse,  — 
Les  gloires  de  Dieu,  les  gloires  de  Dieu." 

So  aged  Andre,  guide  and  voyageur,  his  parch 
ment  face  alight  with  inward  joy,  fared  forth  to  seek 
that  City  in  the  West. 

For  you  who  love  the  sunlight  on  the  wave,  who 
hail  with  joy  the  sunrise  ever  new;  for  you  to  whom 
the  starlight  brings  a  thought  of  that  high  peace  that 
guides  the  wanderer;  for  you  who  watch  the  coming 
of  the  day  with  eyes  that  see  the  miracle  of  life;  for 
you  who  share  in  all  the  fair  delights  of  sunlight, 
moonlight,  starlight,  twilight,  dawn,  and  feel  their 
charm  in  every  mood  and  tense  of  nature's  perfecting 
—  for  you  alone  I  sing  this  voyage  over  inland  seas. 

By  sunlight,  moonlight,  starlight,  Andre  fared  along 
the  river  called  "  the  Queen's  Highway  ";  and  soon 
there  frowned  upon  him,  dark,  superb,  the  crested 
towering  headland  of  Tourmente  that  signals  to  the 
Plains  of  Abraham.  And  ever  westwards,  west  by 
south,  he  fared  until  he  saw  the  shipping  of  Quebec 
like  some  huge  cobweb  outlined  intricate  in  black 
against  the  golden  gleaming  west. 

The  sunset  gun  resounded  in  mid-air  as  Andre 


140  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

anchor  dropped  below  the  town.  The  man-of-war's 
huge  bulk  belched  answering  flame,  and  ere  the  can 
non's  echoing  roar  had  ceased,  a  sharp  report  was 
heard,  a  pigmy  sound  that  woke  its  pigmy  echo  from 
the  Rock.  So  Andre  fired  salute  and  quickly  ran  aloft 
his  tiny  Union  Jack.  'Twas  seen  along  the  quays; 
the  sailors  cheered  and  cheered,  until  Pierre  bayed 
musical  response. 

Then  Andre,  when  the  moon  had  fully  risen, 
stretched  out  along  the  stern  and  smoked  his  pipe, 
Pierre  at  his  feet,  and  watched  the  Rock  that,  like 
a  jewel  many  facetted,  now  held,  now  flashed  at  every 
point  the  lights  along  the  Terrace  in  the  Upper  Town. 
He  heard  a  merry  song,  a  peal  of  bells,  a  strain  of  dis 
tant  music,  plash  of  oars  —  then  silence.  One  by  one 
the  lights  went  out;  the  moon  was  riding  high  and 
full  above  the  scarp  and  ramparts  of  the  Citadel;  be 
neath,  the  river  rolled  its  silvered  flood. 

Then  onwards,  ever  onwards  toward  the  West  fared 
steadily  this  old  French  voyageur,  and  as  he  passed 
the  dreaded  Raven  Cape  he  trolled  a  catch,  "  Un  noir 
corbeau",  to  ward  all  ill  and  evil  from  his  sturdy  craft. 
So  sped  unharmed,  swift-paddling  toward  the  broad 
and  sunlit  shallows  of  Saint  Peter's  lake,  and  ever 
westwards  to  the  Royal  Isle  where  Montreal's  green 
height  looks  down  upon  its  shadowy  reflex  in  Saint 
Lawrence's  wave. 

On,  on  he  sped  and  ever  to  the  West,  land-locked 
at  times  in  prairie-bound  canals;  then  pulling  vigor 
ously,  the  rapids  past,  along  the  River's  narrowing 
polished  curve,  with  oar  stroke,  swift  and  sweeping, 
keeping  time  to  lilt  of  merry  raftsmen  on  the 
Sault. 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  141 

Fresh-hearted  Andre!  All  the  wholesome  joys  to 
which  his  simple  life  was  consecrate  were  his  as  on  he 
voyaged;  his  eventide  brought  joy  and  calm  and 
light-of-evening  peace.  But  once  he  would  have  tar 
ried  —  as  alights  a  wearied  sea-mew  on  some  lonely 
isle  —  when,  paddling  slow  and  noiselessly  he  steered 
his  craft  among  the  leafy  waterways  of  that  Arcadian 
Venice  of  our  North:  the  Thousand  Isles.  His 
woodsman's  heart  beat  high  when,  gliding  silently 
past  sunny  glades  and  darkling  glens,  he  heard  the 
wavelets  lap  the  crinkling  sands  and  saw  the  water 
glint  against  the  slopes  fringed  deep  with  June's  lush 
green. 

At  times  he  paused,  the  paddle  braced,  and  leaned 
thereon  his  weight;  the  while,  his  lungs  inflate,  he 
drew  deep  breaths  of  fragrance  balsamic  that  flowed 
in  counter  currents,  sensate,  warm,  from  out  the 
depths  of  cedar  thickets  gray,  and  red,  and  white. 
And  then  away,  away  he  sped  past  gardens  gay  with 
summer  blooms,  past  emerald  lawns  set  round  by 
sapphire  waves.  And  here  and  there  an  islet  laughed 
at  him  —  a  tiny  patch  of  verdure  overhung  by  one 
white  birch  that  glistered  in  the  sun. 

And  every  night  a  strange  enchantment  wrought 
upon  his  spirit  when,  beneath  the  stars,  on  some  long 
reach  that  narrowed  suddenly,  embraced  by  banks 
converging,  forest  clad,  the  dugout  drifted  'twixt 
two  firmaments.  Then  Andre  dreamed  of  pool  and 
river  reach  and  ancient  pine  o'er-hanging  torrents 
wild,  far  distant  on  the  Upper  Saguenay;  and  sum 
mer  dwellers  on  those  Fortunate  Isles  were  ware  at 
midnight  of  a  singing  voice  and  fragment  of  a  song, 
like  some  last  chord  drawn  lingeringly  across  respon 
sive  strings: 


142  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

"  Je  cherche,  je  cherche,  la  has,  la  has, 
La  ville  de  Dieu,  la  merveilleuse ; 
Si  je  la  trouve,  quand  je  serai 
De  mon  retour  je  chante  toujours 
Les  gloires  de  Dieu,  les  gloires  de  Dieu." 

Ontario,  Ontario,  all  hail  thou  lovely  Lake  that  in 
thy  breast  doth  hide  the  many  secrets  of  Niagara! 
Upon  thy  waves,  soft  thrilling  joyously  with  rush  of 
thunderous  waters  from  afar,  see,  like  a  gull,  the 
white  three-cornered  sail  dip  lightly  to  the  fair  breeze 
from  the  North! 

"  La  bas,  la  bas,"  sang  Andre  o'er  and  o'er,  and  e'en 
Pierre  bayed  long  into  the  West,  awoke  shrill  echoes 
from  the  border  farms  at  early  dawn,  and  told  his 
nightly  tale  to  waning  summer  moons  till  cliff  and 
shore  gave  back  the  sound  in  echoes  manifold. 

And  what  of  nights  within  some  sheltered  cove  when 
storm  and  darkness  claimed  both  sea  and  sky?  And 
what  of  days  when  furious  cross-winds  rose,  and  smote 
the  lake  that  hissed  and  writhed  and  roared  beneath 
the  scourge  that  welted  its  white  breast?  Then  Andre 
crossed  himself  and  told  his  beads;  Pierre  crouched 
low  adown  within  the  hull;  the  dugout  rocked  safe 
moored  within  the  cove  or,  drawn  up  on  a  strip  of 
pebbly  beach,  with  softly-grating  keel  in  rhythmic 
beats  told  off  the  lapsing  surges  till  the  West  translu 
cent  'neath  the  lifting  cloud  mass  gleamed,  and  in 
the  sedges  near  the  shore  he  heard  the  reed  birds 
whistle  plaintively  and  low. 

Three  moons  had  waxed  and  waned  since,  far  away 
upon  the  Upper  Saguenay,  the  pools  foreshadowed 
substance  of  those  haunting  dreams  of  glories  human 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  143 

eye  had  never  seen  —  thrice  thirty  days  ere  Andre 
neared  his  goal.  At  last,  emerging  from  the  narrow 
strait  of  savage  Mackinac,  he  set  his  sail  and  voyaged 
ever  southwards  day  by  day  with  many  a  tack  ca 
joling  every  breeze.  The  white  fish  leaped  within  the 
dugout's  wake;  the  gulls'  harsh  cry  was  heard  above 
the  mast;  at  times  a  passing  steamer's  paddles 
throbbed  an  hour  and  broke  the  dead  monotony  of  sea 
and  sky  on  lonely  Michigan. 

On  silent  sea,  neath  silent  skies  he  voyaged,  till  lo ! 
one  silent  morn  ere  rise  of  sun,  the  light  mists,  veiling 
yet  disclosing,  crept  slow-curling  o'er  the  surface  of 
the  Lake  to  meet  the  brightening  east,  and  there  dis 
solved  in  sudden  glory,  leaving  Andre  rapt,  with  drip 
ping  oars  suspended  and  with  eyes  intent  upon  a 
vision  marvellous!  —  The  softened  radiance  of  break 
ing  day  shone  clear,  subdued,  on  dome  and  tower  and 
arch,  on  rich  facade  and  many-columned  gate  of  that 
ethereal  Wonder-City  white,  the  fundaments  of  which 
in  amethyst  and  chrysopras  were  seen  deep  down  be 
neath  the  surface  of  the  Lake  that,  motionless,  re 
flected  heaven  on  earth  and  earth  in  heaven! 

And  Andre,  gazing  so,  bared  his  gray  head,  the  slow 
tears  coursing  down  his  furrowed  cheeks,  and,  folding 
on  his  breast  his  calloused  hands,  prayed  low  and 
fingered  o'er  his  wellworn  beads. 

Old  Andre  moored  his  dugout  to  the  pier,  and  leav 
ing  tragic-eyed  Pierre  within  as  sentinel,  slow-blinking 
towards  the  east,  he  turned  his  steps  to  that  high- 
columned  gate,  the  prototype  of  heaven  on  this  our 
earth,  and  passed  beneath  the  portal  as  the  sun  rose 
o'er  the  Lake  in  gorgeous  crimson  state. 


X 

I  CAN  still  hear  in  memory  the  sudden  hiss  from 
a  bursting  air-pocket  in  the  forelog;  it  broke 
the  silence  which  followed  Jamie's  reading.  At 
the  sound,  it  seemed  as  if  we  drew  a  freer  breath. 

Was  it  Jamie  Macleod  who  was  sitting  there  with 
flushed  cheeks,  bright  eyes,  dilated  pupils,  and  eager 
inquiring  look  which  asked  of  his  friends  their  ap 
proval  or  criticism?  Or  was  it  some  changeling  spirit 
of  genius  that  for  the  time  being  had  taken  up  its 
abode  in  the  frail  tenement  of  his  body? 

His  mother  leaned  to  him  and  laid  her  hand  on  his 
shoulder. 

"  My  dear  boy,"  was  all  she  said,  for  they  were  rarely 
demonstrative  with  each  other;  but,  oh,  the  pride 
and  affection  in  her  voice!  I  saw  Jamie's  mouth 
twitch  before  he  smiled  into  her  eyes. 

"  You  Ve  made  us  live  it,  Boy,"  said  the  Doctor 
quietly  and  with  deep  feeling;  "  but  I  never  thought 
you  could  do  it  —  not  so,  for  all  the  faith  I  Ve  had 
in  you." 

Jamie  drew  a  long  breath  of  relief;  he  spoke 
eagerly: 

"  It  was  the  trial  trip,  Doctor,  and  I  did  hope  it 
would  stand  the  test  with  you  and  Ewart." 

Mr.  Ewart  rose  and  crossed  the  hearth  to  him. 
He  held  out  his  strong  shapely  hand.  Jamie's  thin 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  145 

one  closed  upon  it  with  a  tense  nervous  pressure,  as 
I  could  see. 

"  I  congratulate  you,  Macleod."  The  tone  of  his 
voice,  the  address  as  man  to  man,  expressed  his  pride, 
his  love,  his  admiration. 

Jamie  smiled  with  as  much  satisfaction  as  if  for 
the  first  time  there  had  been  conferred  upon  him 
manhood  suffrage,  the  freedom  of  the  city  of  London, 
and  a  batch  of  Oxford  honors.  Then,  satisfied,  he 
turned  to  me.  I  spoke  lightly  to  ease  the  emotional 
tension  that  was  evident  in  all  the  rest  of  us: 

"  You  Ve  imposed  upon  me,  Jamie  Macleod. 
"  You  're  classed  henceforth  with  frauds  and  fakirs! 
How  could  I  know  when  you  were  scrapping  with  me 
the  last  three  weeks  over  such  prosaic  things  as  rag 
carpets,  toilet  sets  and  skins,  that  you  were  harbor 
ing  all  this  poetry!  " 

"  Then  you  think  it 's  poetry?  You  Ve  found  me 
out!  "  Jamie  said,  showing  his  delight.  "  Honestly, 
Marcia,  you  like  it?  I  want  you  to,  though  I  say  it 
as  should  n't." 

"  Yes,  I  do,"  I  answered  earnestly;  "  I  can  under 
stand  the  song  the  better  for  it." 

"  What  song?  "  the  Doctor  asked,  before  Jamie 
could  speak. 

"  *'  O  Canada,  pays  de  man  amour  ',  "  I  quoted. 

"  You  know  that?  "    Mr.  Ewart  spoke  quickly. 

"  Only  as  I  have  heard  it  through  the  graphophone, 
in  the  cabaret  below  the  steamboat  landing." 

"  I  say,  Marcia,  that 's  rough  on  the  song!  —  Gor 
don,"  he  exclaimed,  "  do  you  sing  it  for  us,  do;  then 
she  '11  know  how  it  ought  to  sound." 

"  It 's  the  only  possible  epilogue  for  the  '  Odyssey  ' 
—  what  a  capital  title,  Boy!  Sing  it,  Ewart." 


146  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

"  Wait  till  I  have  a  piano." 

"  You  don't  need  it.    You  used  to  sing  it  in  camp." 

"  But  I  had  Andre's  violin." 

"  I  have  it!  Pierre  will  fiddle  for  you."  Jamie 
jumped  to  his  feet.  "  Hark!  " 

We  listened.  Sure  enough,  from  some  room  behind 
the  kitchen  offices,  probably  in  the  summer  kitchen, 
we  could  hear  the  faint  but  merry  sounds  of  a  violin. 

"They're  celebrating  your  home-coming,  Ewart! 
I  knew  they  were  up  to  snuff  when  Angelique  gave  me 
an  order  for  a  half  a  dozen  bottles  of  the  '  vin  du  pays', 
you  remember,  Marcia?  They  're  at  it  now.  I  might 
have  known  it,  for  they  have  n't  come  in  to  say  good 
night." 

"  Let 's  have  them  all  in  then,"  said  Mr.  Ewart. 
"  They  '11  stay  up  as  long  as  we  do." 

"  Will  you  sing  for  them?  "  Mrs.  Macleod  put  the 
question  directly  to  her  host. 

"  For  you  and  them,  if  you  wish  it,"  was  the  cordial 
reply.  "  Jamie,  you  're  master  of  ceremonies  and  have 
had  something  up  your  sleeve  all  this  evening;  I 
know  by  your  looks.  Bring  them  in." 

Jamie  laughed  mischievously.  "  Oh,  I  '11  bring 
them  in,"  he  said:  I  knew  then  that,  unknown  to  his 
mother  and  me,  he  had  planned  a  surprise. 

"  Get  Cale  in,  if  you  can,"  Mr.  Ewart  called  after 
him. 

"  Oh,  Cale  's  abed  before  this;  he  does  n't  acknowl 
edge  you  as  his  lord  of  the  manor,  not  yet." 

"  That  was  remarkable,  Gordon,"  said  the  Doctor, 
as  soon  as  the  door  closed  on  Jamie. 

"  Yes,  he  has  given  me  a  surprise.  Of  course  you 
realized  that  whole  description  was  in  metre?  " 

"  I  was  sure  of  it  after  the  first  page  or  two,  but  I 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  147 

could  scarcely  trust  my  ears.  What  the  boy  has  done 
is  to  make  of  it  a  true  Canadian  idyl.  I  wish  Drum- 
mond  might  have  heard  it." 

"  I  believe  Jamie  knows  '  The  Habitant '  book  of 
poems  by  heart.  Have  you  ever  read  it,  Miss  Far- 
rell?  " 

"  Yes,  in  New  York;  and  Jamie  has  promised  to 
give  me  a  copy  for  a  Christmas  remembrance." 

"  I  '11  add  one  to  it,"  said  the  Doctor,  "  '  The  Voy- 
ageur,'  then  you  will  probe  a  little  deeper  into  Ewart's 
love  and  mine  for  Canada." 

"  Oh,  thank  you;  these  two  will  be  the  beginning 
of  my  private  library." 

"  I  '11  give  you  an  autograph  copy  of  '  Johnnie 
Courteau,'  if  you  like;  I  knew  Drummond,"  said  Mr. 
Ewart. 

To  say  I  was  pleased,  would  not  express  the  pleasure 
those  two  men  gave  me  in  just  thinking  of  me  in  this 
way.  I  thanked  them  both,  a  little  stiffly,  I  fear,  for 
I  am  not  used  to  gifts;  but  my  face  must  have  shown 
them  how  genuine  was  my  feeling  for  the  favors. 
They  both  saw  my  slight  confusion  and  interpreted  it, 
for  Mr.  Ewart  said,  smiling: 

"  If  you  don't  mind  I  will  add  to  the  unborn  library 
Drummond's  other  volume;  I  'm  going  to  try  to 
live  up  to  Gale's  expectation  of  me  concerning  your 
connection  with  books.  They  will  help  you  to  remem 
ber  this  evening." 

"  As  if  I  needed  anything  to  remember  it!  "  I  ex 
claimed,  at  ease  again.  "  It 's  like  —  it 's  like  —  " 

"  Like  what,  Marcia?  "  Mrs.  Macleod  put  this 
question. 

"  Tell  us,  do,"  the  Doctor  added;  "  don't  keep  me 
in  suspense;  my  temperament  can't  bear  it."  He 


148  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

looked  at  me  a  little  puzzled  and  wholly  curious.  I 
was  glad  to  answer  both  Mrs.  Macleod  and  him  truth 
fully: 

"  Like  a  new  lease  of  life  for  me."  My  smile  an 
swered  the  Doctor's,  and  I  was  interested  to  see  that 
the  same  wireless  message  I  was  transmitting  again 
across  the  abyss  of  time,  failed  again  of  interpretation. 
I  turned  to  Mrs.  Macleod. 

"  I  think  I  may  be  needed  in  the  kitchen."  I  rose 
to  leave  the  room. 

"  Are  you  in  the  secret  too?  "  Mr.  Ewart  asked. 

"  No,  but  I  've  been  recalling  certain  commissions 
Angelique  gave  me  —  extra  citron,  pink  coloring  for 
cakes,  and  powdered  sugar  for  which,  as  yet,  we  have 
had  no  use  in  the  house.  But  I  want  to  be  in  the 
secret,  for  Jamie  —  " 

The  sentence  remained  unfinished,  for  Jamie  flung 
open  the  door  with  a  flourish,  and  stout  Angelique, 
flushed  with  responsibility  and  the  "  vin  du  pays  ", 
entered  carrying  a  huge  round  platter,  whereon  was  a 
cake  of  noble  proportions  ornamented  with  white 
frosting  in  all  sorts  of  curly  cues  and  central  "Fe 
licitations  "  in  pink.  Behind  her  came  Marie  with  a 
tin  tray,  laid  with  an  immaculate  napkin  — one  of  our 
new  ones  —  filled  with  pressed  wine-glasses  and  de 
canters  of  antiquated  shape.  Following  her  was  little 
Pete,  carrying  on  each  arm  an  enormous  wreath  of 
ground  pine  and  bittersweet.  Big  Pete  brought  up 
the  rear,  his  face  glowing,  his  black  eyes  sparkling, 
his  earrings  twinkling.  He  was  tuning  his  violin. 

All  rose  to  greet  them;  but  ignoring  us,  with  intense 
seriousness,  they  ranged  themselves  in  a  row  near 
the  door.  They  still  held  their  offerings.  Pierre, 
drawing  his  bow  across  the  strings,  nodded  his  head. 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  149 

Thereupon  they  began  to  sing,  and  sang  with  all 
their  hearts  and  vocal  powers  to  the  accompaniment 
of  the  violin: 

"  O  Canada,  pays  de  mon  amour!  " 

With  the  first  words,  Mr.  Ewart's  voice,  full,  strong, 
vibrant  with  patriotism,  joined  them;  his  fine  bari 
tone  seemed  to  carry  the  melody  for  all  the  others. 
The  room  rang  to  the  sound  of  the  united  voices.  I 
saw  Cale  at  the  door,  listening  with  bent  head.  Jamie 
stood  beside  him,  triumphant  and  happy  at  the  suc 
cess  of  his  surprise  party. 

How  Angelique  sang!  Her  stout  person  fairly  quiv 
ered  with  the  resonance  of  her  alto.  Marie's  shrill 
treble  rose  and  fell  with  regular  staccato  emphasis. 
Pierre,  father,  roared  his  bass  in  harmony  with  Pierre, 
son's  falsetto,  and  beat  time  heavily  with  his  right 
foot. 

At  the  finish,  the  Doctor  started  the  applause  in 
which  Jamie  and  Cale  joined.  With  a  sigh  of  abso 
lute  satisfaction,  Angelique  presented  her  cake  to  Mr. 
Ewart  who,  taking  it  from  her  with  thanks,  placed 
it  on  the  library  table  and  paid  her  the  compliment  of 
asking  her  to  cut  it.  Marie  passed  around  the  tray 
and  decanted  the  "  vin  du  pays  ".  Little  Peter,  fol 
lowing  instructions  given  him  in  the  kitchen,  hung  a 
wreath  from  each  corner  of  the  mantel.  Compliments 
and  congratulations  on  the  cake,  the  wine,  the 
wreaths,  the  song,  the  master's  home-coming,  the 
refurbished  manor  house,  were  exchanged  freely,  and 
we  all  talked  together  in  French  and  English.  My 
broken  French  was  understood  because  they  were  kind 
enough  to  guess  at  my  meaning  —  the  most  of  it. 

Then  the  healths  were  drunk,  to  Mr.  Ewart,  to  the 
Doctor,  to  Jamie,  Mrs.  Macleod  and  me;  and  we 


150  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

drank  theirs.  Finally,  Mr.  Ewart  went  to  Cale, 
whom  Jamie  had  persuaded  to  step  over  the  threshold, 
and  gave  his  health,  touching  glasses  with  him: 

"  To  my  fellow  laborer  in  the  forest."  He  repeated 
it  in  French  for  the  benefit  of  the  French  contingent. 

Cale,  touching  glasses,  swallowed  his  wine  at  one 
gulp  and  abruptly  left  the  room.  He  half  stumbled 
over  little  Pierre  who  was  sitting  in  the  corner  by  the 
door,  supremely  happy  in  the  remains  of  his  huge  piece 
of  cake,  which  at  his  special  request  was  cut  that  he 
might  have  the  pink  letters  "  Felici  ",  and  in  the  two 
lumps  of  white  sugar  which  Mr.  Ewart  dropped  into 
a  glass  of  wine  highly  diluted  with  water. 

Oh,  it  was  good  to  see  them!  It  was  good  to  hear 
their  merry  chat;  to  be  glad  in  their  rejoicing  over 
the  return  and  final  settlement  of  Mr.  Ewart  among 
them,  their  "  lord  of  the  manor  ",  as  they  persisted  in 
calling  him  to  his  evident  disgust  and  amusement. 
But  their  joy  was  genuine,  a  pleasant  thing  to  bear 
witness  to  in  these  our  times. 

And  if  Father  Pierre  in  his  exuberance  of  congratu 
lation  repeated  himself  many  times;  if  Angelique 
asked  Mr.  Ewart  more  than  once  if  the  cake  was  ex 
actly  to  his  taste;  if  Marie  grew  doubly  voluble  with 
her  "  Dormez-biens  ",  and  little  Pierre  was  discovered 
helping  himself  uninvited  to  another  piece  of  cake  — 
an  act  that  roused  Angelique  to  seeming  frenzy  — 
Mr.  Ewart  closed  an  eye  to  it  all,  for,  as  they  trooped, 
still  voluble,  out  of  the  room,  he  knew  as  well  as  we 
that  their  measure  of  happiness  was  full,  pressed  down 
and  running  over.  Oh,  their  bonhomie!  It  was  a 
revelation  to  me. 

The  embers  were  still  bright  in  the  fireplace  but  the 
candles  were  burning  low  in  the  sconces;  it  was  high 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  151 

time  at  half-past  eleven  for  the  whole  household  to 
say  good  night. 

"  A  home-coming  to  remember,  Gordon,"  I  heard 
Doctor  Rugvie  say,  as  I  left  the  room. 

"  I  can't  yet  realize  it;  but  I  Ve  dreamed  — 

I  caught  no  more,  for  the  door  closed  upon  them. 

The  two  men  must  have  talked  together  into  the 
morning  hours,  for  I  heard  them  come  upstairs  long 
after  I  was  in  bed.  Not  until  the  house  was  wholly 
quiet  could  I  get  to  sleep. 


XI 

1WAS  up  betimes  the  next  morning,  but  Cale  had 
been  before  me  and  taken  up  the  offending  rag 
carpet  from  the  passageway.  When  I  went  into 
the  kitchen,  Angelique  told  me  that  the  seignior  - 
she  persisted  in  calling  him  that  —  and  the  Doctor 
had  had  their  coffee  and  early  doughnuts  and  were  off 
in  the  pung,  the  seignior  driving;  that  they  said  they 
would  be  at  home  for  dinner.  I  found  Cale  and 
Pierre,  acting  under  orders  in  the  early  morning,  ta 
king  the  trunks  up  to  the  bedrooms,  placing  the  guns 
in  the  racks,  removing  the  various  sporting  imple 
ments  to  a  room  behind  the  kitchen,  and  the  chests 
to  a  storeroom.  At  breakfast  we  three  were  alone 
together  as  usual.  The  four  dogs  were  absent. 

Mrs.  Macleod  and  I  spent  the  entire  forenoon  bring 
ing  order  again  into  the  various  rooms.  In  the  mean 
time,  Jamie  was  dreaming  and  reading  in  the  living- 
room.  I  had  been  there  just  a  month  and  a  day,  and 
could  not  help  wondering  who  would  pay  me!  I 
needed  the  money  for  some  heavier  clothing. 

The  two  friends  appeared  promptly  for  dinner  and 
brought  with  them  appetities  sharpened  by  the  in 
creasing  cold.  They  had  been  in  Richelieu-en-Bas 
and  arranged  for  a  telephone  for  the  manor,  called 
on  some  English  friends  visiting  at  the  new  manor 
house  in  the  village,  and  stopped  at  some  of  the  sei- 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  153 

gniory  farmhouses  on  the  way  home.  I  found  Mere 
Guillardeau  had  been  remembered  at  this  early 
date. 

"  Are  you  busy  this  afternoon,  Miss  Farrell  ?  "  said 
the  Doctor,  as  we  rose  from  our  first  meal  together  and 
went  into  the  living-room. 

"  Not  unless  Mrs.  Macleod  needs  me?  "  I  looked 
at  her  inquiringly. 

"  No,  there  is  nothing  more,  Marcia;  you  did  a 
good  day's  work  in  a  few  hours  this  morning,"  she 
replied  in  answer  to  my  look. 

"  Can  I  be  helpful  to  you  in  any  way?  "  I  said, 
turning  again  to  the  Doctor. 

"  Yes  —  I  think  you  can."  He  smiled  quizzically, 
looking  down  upon  me  from  his  substantial  height. 
"  You  may  not  know  —  of  course  you  don't,  how  could 
you  know,  never  having  heard  much  of  an  old  fellow 
like  me  — 

"  Oh,  have  n't  I?  " 

"  Have  you?  Then  the  Boy  here  has  been  giving 
me  away.  Has  he  ever  told  you  I  am  something  of  a 
whip?  " 

"  No,  not  that." 

"  Well,  then,  I  am  going  to  prove  it  to  you.  I  pro 
pose  to  show  the  two  French  coach  horses  how  to 
draw  a  pung,  —  Ewart  does  n't  yet  own  a  sleigh,  you 
know  in  Canada,  —  and  I  wish  you  would  lend  me 
your  company  for  an  hour  or  so." 

If  the  Doctor  expected  an  enthusiastic  response 
he  must  have  been  disappointed.  Not  that  I  did  n't 
want  the  ride  in  the  pung,  but  it  occurred  to  me  that 
here  was  my  opportunity,  offered  without  my  seeking 
it,  to  ask  of  him  all  that  I  had  been  planning  to  ask 
during  many  weeks.  As  this  door  of  opportunity 


154  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

was  so  suddenly  opened  to  me,  I  felt  the  chill  of  the 
unknown  creeping  towards  me  over  its  threshold.  I 
answered  almost  with  hesitation: 

"  Certainly,  I  will  go,  unless  Mrs.  Macleod  —  " 

"  Mrs.  Macleod  says  she  does  n't  need  you."  He 
spoke  quickly,  his  keen  eyes  holding  mine  for  a  mo 
ment. 

"  I  say,  that 's  a  jolly  cool  way  you  have  at 
times,  Marcia! "  Jamie  exploded  in  his  usual 
fashion  when  he  is  ruffled.  "  But  you  '11  get  used  to 
it,  Doctor  —  I  have." 

"  A  martyr,  eh,  Boy?  "   The  Doctor  looked  amused. 

"Well,  rather  — at  times." 

"  Don't  mind  Jamie's  martyrdoms,  Doctor  Rugvie; 
tell  me  when  you  want  me  to  be  ready." 

"  In  half  an  hour.  I  don't  want  to  start  too  late; 
be  sure  to  take  enough  wraps." 

I  left  them  to  go  upstairs,  wondering  on  the  way 
what  wraps  I  should  take  —  I,  who  possessed  only 
sufficient  clothing  to  help  out  a  New  York  winter, 
but  no  furs,  no  fur  coat,  no  warm  moccasins,  no 
mittens,  only  an  unlined  gray  tweed  ulster  that  with 
a  grey  sweater  had  done  duty  for  four  years. 

"  I  want  my  pay  more  than  I  want  a  pung  ride," 
T  growled,  as  I  was  trying  to  make  the  one  thick  veil 
I  owned  do  double  duty  for  head  and  ears  protector. 
I  folded  a  square  of  newspaper  and  laid  it  over  my 
chest  under  my  sweater ;  I  put  on  two  pairs  of  stock 
ings.  Thus  fortified  against  the  Canadian  cold,  I 
went  downstairs  promptly  on  time. 

Mr.  Ewart  came  out  into  the  passageway;  the 
Doctor  was  talking  with  Mrs.  Macleod  in  the  living- 
room. 

"  Why,  Miss  Farrell,"  he  exclaimed,  "  I  see  you 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  155 

don't  realize  our  climate;  you  can't  go  without  more 
wraps  — 

He  hesitated,  grew  visibly  embarrassed.  I  knew  by 
his  manner  he  had  unwittingly  probed  my  poverty 
to  the  quick,  and  I  crimsoned  with  shame;  yes,  I 
was  ashamed  that  my  lack  should  thus  be  made  known 
to  him  —  ashamed  as  when  Delia  Beaseley's  keen  eyes 
read  my  need  of  money. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  need  to  bundle  up  —  I  have  been 
accustomed  to  go  without  such  heavy  clothing,"  I 
said,  with  ready  lie  to  cover  my  confusion. 

The  Doctor  came  out  and  took  his  fur-lined  coat 
from  a  wooden  peg  under  the  staircase.  Mr.  Ewart 
turned  abruptly  and  reached  for  something  on  an 
adjoining  peg;  it  was  a  fur  coat  of  Canadian  fox,  soft 
and  fine  and  warm. 

"  You  are  to  wear  this,  otherwise  the  Doctor  won't 
let  you  go,"  he  said  quickly,  decidedly,  shaking  it 
down  and  holding  it  ready  for  me  to  slip  in  my 
arms. 

For  a  second,  a  second  only,  I  hesitated,  searching 
for  some  excuse  to  give  up  the  drive  and  so  avoid  ac 
ceptance  of  this  favor;  then  I  slipped  into  it,  much  to 
Jamie's  delight  who,  appearing  at  the  living-room 
door,  cried  out: 

"  My,  Marcia,  but  you  're  smart  in  Ewart's  togs! 
We  '11  have  some  of  our  own  if  this  is  the  kind  of 
weather  they  treat  us  to  in  Canada.  I  've  been  hug 
ging  the  fire  all  the  morning." 

He  saved  the  situation  for  me  and  I  was  grateful 
to  him;  but  Mr.  Ewart  looked  at  him,  almost  anx 
iously,  saying: 

"  I  should  have  been  getting  the  heater  put  up  this 
forenoon,  instead  of  rushing  off  the  first  thing  this 


156  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

morning.  A  poor  host  thus  far,  Jamie,  but  I  '11  make 
good  hereafter." 

The  Doctor  looked  me  over  carefully. 

"  You  're  safeguarded  with  that;  the  sleeves  are 
so  long  and  ample  they  are  as  good  as  a  modern  muff 
—  go  back,  Boy,"  —  he  spoke  brusquely,  as  he  opened 
the  outer  door,  —  "  this  is  no  place  for  you." 

Cale  vacated  the  pung,  and  the  Doctor  and  I  filled 
it.  He  took  the  reins;  the  beautiful  creatures  rose 
as  one  in  the  exuberance  of  life;  shook  their  heads,  and 
the  bells  with  them,  as  they  poised  a  moment  on  their 
hind  feet;  then  they  planted  their  hoofs  in  the  crisp 
ing  snow,  and  we  were  off. 

"  Your  ears  must  have  burned  more  than  a  little 
this  forenoon,  Miss  Farrell,"  he  said,  after  driving  in 
silence  for  ten  minutes  during  which  time  he  proved 
conclusively  to  the  French  horses  that  he  was  a 
"  whip  "  of  the  first  order,  and  to  be  respected  hence 
forth  as  such.  It  was  a  pleasure  to  see  his  manage 
ment  of  the  high-lifed  animals. 

"  Mine?  I  was  n't  conscious  of  anything  unusual 
about  them." 

"  We  were  speaking  of  you  and  your  evident  execu 
tive  ability,  and  we  took  the  time  on  our  drive  to  try 
to  settle  a  little  business  matter  that  concerns  you. 
("  Ah,  wages,"  I  thought  with  satisfaction.)  We 
tried  to  agree  but  we  failed;  and  although  we  did  not 
come  to  blows  over  the  question,  it  was  not  settled  to 
my  satisfaction,  at  least.  You  don't  mind  my  speak 
ing  very  frankly?  " 

"  No,  indeed;  I  wish  you  would."  I  looked  up  at 
him  over  the  turned-up  fur  collar  of  Mr.  Ewart's  fox 
skins  —  "  pelts  "  is  our  name  for  them  in  New  Eng 
land  —  and  smiled  merrily.  I  was  right  glad  to  get 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  157 

down,  at  last,  to  some  business  basis  and  know  where 
I  stood.  Again  I  saw  the  perplexed  look  in  his  eyes. 

"  Why?  " 

"  Because,  naturally,  you  know,  I  look  for  pay  day 
to  help  out." 

"  Naturally,"  he  repeated  gravely;  then  laughed 
out,  a  hearty,  good-comrade  laugh.  "  Just  how  long 
have  you  been  here?  " 

"  A  month  yesterday." 

"  And  wages  overdue!  " 

I  nodded  emphatically.  I  felt  as  if  I  could  tell  this 
man  beside  me,  with  his  wide  experience  of  human 
kind,  about  the  pitiful  sum  of  twenty-two  dollars  I 
had  saved  from  my  wreck  of  life  in  New  York ;  about 
my  scrimpings ;  even  of  the  two  pair  of  stockings,  and 
the  square  of  newspaper  reposing  at  that  very  minute 
on  my  chest  and  crackling  audibly  when  I  drew  a 
deeper  breath.  There  was  no  feeling  of  soul-shame 
on  account  of  my  poverty  with  him,  any  more  than  I 
should  have  felt  physical  shame  at  the  nakedness  of 
my  body  if  subject  to  one  of  his  famous  surgical  opera 
tions.  Had  not  this  man  helped  to  bring  me  into  the 
world?  Should  I  have  been  here  but  for  him?  Had 
he  not  known  me  as  an  entity  before  I  knew  anything 
of  the  fact  of  life?  This  idea  of  him  disarmed  my 
pride. 

"  H'm,"  he  said  at  last,  thoughtfully,  "  I  must  live 
up  to  my  reputation  of  owing  no  man  or  woman  over 
night.  You  shall  have  it  so  soon  as  we  get  back  to  the 
house  —  and  well  earned  too,"  he  added;  "I  had 
no  idea  an  advertisement  could  bring  about  such  a 
satisfactory  result." 

"  Do  you  mean  me  or  the  refurbished  house?  " 

"  I  mean  you.    And  now  that  we  're  alone,  do  you 


158  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

mind  telling  me  something  of  how  it  came  about? 
I  '11  own  to  asking  you  to  come  with  me  that  we  might 
have  a  preliminary  chat  together." 

"  I  thought  so." 

"  Oh,  you  did!  Well,  commend  me  to  one  of  my 
compatriots  to  ferret  out  my  intentions.  I  heard  Cale 
say  you  were  born  in  New  York." 

"  Yes,  twenty-six  years  ago,  but  I  have  lived  most 
of  my  life  in  the  country,  in  northern  New  Eng 
land." 

"  Wh— ?  "  he  caught  himself  up  in  his  question, 
and  I  ignored  it. 

"  That  climate  is  really  just  as  severe  as  the  Cana 
dian,  so  I  feel  quite  at  home  in  this." 

"  May  I  ask  if  your  parents  are  living?  " 

"  No,  they  're  not  living;  my  mother  died  when  I 
was  born.  I  told  Delia  Beaseley  so  when  I  applied 
for  this  place." 

("  Now  is  my  time;  courage!  "  I  exhorted  myself 
in  thought.) 

"  I  'm  glad  you  know  Delia  Beaseley,  she  's  a  fine 
woman." 

"  A  noble  one,"  I  said,  heartily. 

"  Yes,  noble  —  and  good." 

"  And  good,"  I  repeated. 

"  I  think  I  '11  tell  you  a  little  how  good." 

"  I  think  I  know." 

"  You  do?  "    He  looked  surprised. 

"  Yes,  she  told  me  something  of  her  life."  He 
turned  squarely  to  me  then. 

"  How  came  she  to?  "    He  asked  bluntly. 

"  Now,  courage,  Marcia  Farrell,  out  with  it,"  I 
said  to  myself,  but  aloud: 

"  She  said  I  resembled  some  one  whom  she  knew 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  159 

years  ago  —  some  one  who,  she  said,  had  '  missed  her 
footing  '." 

"  She  said  that?  " 

I  nodded.  "  Then  she  spoke  of  her  own  life  and 
what  came  of  it  —  how  she  had  tried  to  save  others; 
and  one  thing  led  on  to  another  until  I  felt  I  had  al 
ways  known  her." 

He  turned  again  to  look  at  me,  and  it  was  given  me 
to  read  his  very  thought :  —  Have  you  ever  come  near 
missing  your  footing?  Did  Delia  Beaseley  save  you 
from  any  pitfall? 

I  answered  his  unspoken  thought: 

"  Oh,  you  may  take  my  word  for  it  I  am  wholly 
respectable  —  always  have  been.  I  could  n't  have 
answered  your  advertisement  if  I  had  n't  been." 

"  The  deuce  you  are!  Well,  young  lady,  I  '11  ask 
you  not  to  answer  a  man's  thoughts  again  before  he 
has  given  them  expression;  it 's  uncanny."  He  was 
growling  a  little. 

I  laughed  aloud,  for  it  delighted  me  to  puzzle  him 
a  bit,  especially  with  the  revelation  of  my  identity  in 
prospect.  I  was  enjoying  the  pung  ride  too.  We 
were  on  the  river  road.  The  black  tree  trunks,  stand 
ing  out  against  the  white  snow-covered  expanse  of 
the  St.  Lawrence,  seemed  to  speed  past  us.  The  sharp 
bits  of  ice-snow  flew  from  the  fleet  horses'  hoofs,  and 
now  and  then  one  stung  my  cheek. 

"  Cale  informed  me  that  you  worked  in  the  New 
York  Library;  may  I  ask  how  you  happened  to  answer 
the  advertisement?  " 

"  I  wanted  to  get  away  from  the  city  —  far  away." 

"  Tired  of  it  —  like  the  rest  of  us?  " 

"  Yes  —  and  I  was  ill."  He  gave  me  a  look  that 
was  suddenly  wholly  professional. 


160  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

"  Long?  " 

"  Ten  weeks." 

"  What  was  it?  " 

"  Typhoid  pneumonia  with  pleuri —  " 

"  And  you  were  going  to  come  out  with  me  for  a 
spin  in  that  ulster!  " 

He  roared  so  at  me  that  the  horses,  taking  fright 
at  the  sound  of  his  voice,  plunged  suddenly  and  gave 
him  plenty  to  do  to  calm  them  into  a  trot  again.  I 
enjoyed  the  equine  gymnastics  so  promptly  pro 
vided  for  his  diversion. 

"  I  was  at  St.  Luke's."  I  volunteered  this  informa 
tion  when  he  was  free  to  receive  it. 

"  St.  Luke's,  eh?  That 's  where  you  heard  of  this 
old  curmudgeon." 

"  Yes,  there;  and  from  Delia  Beaseley,  and  Jamie, 
and  Mrs.  Macleod." 

"  By  the  way,  you  and  Jamie  seem  to  be  great 
friends." 

"  I  love  him,"  I  said  emphatically. 

"  H'm,  lucky  dog;  better  not  tell  him  so." 

"  Why  not?  "  I  asked,  at  once  on  the  defensive. 

The  Doctor  compressed  his  lips  in  a  fashion  that 
said  as  plainly  as  if  he  had  spoken,  "  Unsophisticated 
at  twenty-six;  I  don't  believe  her!  " 

"  I  love  Cale,  too,  and  he  is  my  own  kind." 

"  Cale  's  all  right;  I  'm  going  to  know  him  better 
before  the  week  is  out.  And  how  about  Mrs.  Mac 
leod?  " 

"  Mrs.  Macleod  is  Jamie's  mother,  and  I  like  her 
and  respect  her  —  but  she  's  not  easy  to  love." 

"  That 's  true  —  she  is  not  easy  to  love.  About  the 
salary,"  he  said  changing  the  subject;  "  I  in  tended  to 
pay  it  myself  until  you  were  installed  on  the  farm; 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  161 

it  is  a  favor  to  me  to  be  allowed  to  help  out  Mrs.  Mac- 
leod.  I  knew  from  private  sources  that  she  needed 
someone  to  cheer  her  here  in  this  Canadian  country; 
it 's  a  great  change  from  her  home  in  Crieff,  and  then 
she  carries  Jamie  on  her  heart  all  the  time.  I  insisted 
this  morning  on  taking  charge  of  the  whole  busi 
ness,  you  included,"  he  smiled  ruefully,  "  but  Ewart 
would  n't  hear  to  it.  He  argues  that  so  long  as  you 
are  in  his  house,  and  your  work  is  —  well,  we  '11  call  it 
home-making,  he,  being  the  beneficiary  has  the  sole 
right  to  pay  for  his  benefits." 

"  That 's  just  what  I  told  Mrs.  Macleod  and  Jamie 
I  would  try  to  make  of  you  and  him  —  " 

"  The  dickens  you  did!    A  beneficiary  of  me,  eh?  " 

"  Yes,  and  I  shall  try  to,"  I  said  earnestly.  The 
Doctor  grew  serious  at  once. 

"  It  will  not  be  a  hard  task,  Miss  Farrell;  I  begin 
to  dream  of  what  the  farm  will  be  like  with  you  to 
help  make  it  a  home  for  me  and,  in  time,  many 
others,  as  I  hope." 

"  Doctor  Rugvie,  would  you  mind  calling  me  by 
my  first  name?  " 

"  Yes,  I  should  mind  very  much,  because  it 's 
exactly  what  I  have  wanted  to  do,  but  did  not  feel 
at  liberty  to." 

"  In  my  position  it  is  better  that  all  in  the  house 
should  call  me  Marcia." 

"  Your  position?  "  He  looked  around  at  me  with  a 
queer  twist  of  his  upper  lip.  "  What  is  your  posi 
tion?  " 

"  According  to  the  advertisement  it  was  for  service 
on  a  farm  in  Canada." 

"  And  now  you  find  yourself  in  an  anomalous  one? 
Is  that  the  trouble?  " 


162  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

"  Yes,  just  it.  I  don't  know  what  is  to  be  required 
of  me  —  I  really  don't  see  how  I  am  to  earn  my  salt." 

"  Don't  bother  yourself  about  that."  He  frowned 
slightly.  "  I  confess  this  insistence  on  Ewart's  part 
to  pay  you,  complicates  matters  a  little.  /  wanted  to 
be  boss  this  time." 

"  And  I  hoped  you  would  be  mine,  anyway,"  I  said 
mutinously.  "  I  am  far  from  satisfied  to  have  my 
business  dealings  with  Mr.  Ewart,  a  stranger  and  an 
alien." 

"  It  will  be  only  for  a  time;  I  am  going  to  tell  you, 
all  of  you,  about  my  farm  plans  this  evening.  I 
have  n't  spoken  yet  to  Ewart  very  freely  about 
them." 

The  horses  were  turned  homewards,  and  I  felt  that 
little  time  was  left  me  to  ask  any  intimate  questions 
of  the  Doctor  concerning  myself.  I  could  not  find  the 
right  word  —  and  I  knew  I  was  not  trying  with  any  de 
gree  of  earnestness.  "  I  '11  put  it  off  till  the  last  of  the 
week,"  I  said  to  myself;  then  I  began  to  speak  of  that 
self,  for  I  knew  the  Doctor  was  waiting  for  this  and, 
wisely,  was  biding  my  time.  I  was  grateful  to  him. 

I  told  him  of  my  hard-worked  young  years  and  my 
longing  to  get  away  to  independence.  I  entered  into 
no  family  details;  it  was  not  necessary.  I  told  him 
something  of  my  struggle  in  New  York  and  of  my  place 
in  the  Branch  Library;  of  my  long  illness  and  how  it 
had  left  me:  tired  out,  listless,  practically  homeless 
and  in  need  of  immediate  money.  I  told  him  how 
I  sought  Delia  Beaseley  on  the  strength  of  the  adver 
tisement  ;  how  she  helped  me ;  how  I  felt  I  had  found 
release  from  the  city  and  its  burden  of  livelihood,  and 
how  happy  I  was  with  my  new  duties  in  the  old  manor 
house ;  how  the  fact  that  it  was  an  old  manor  fed  the 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  163 

vein  of  romance  in  me  which  neither  hard  work  nor 
illness  had  been  able  to  work  out;  how  I  enjoyed 
Jamie  and  Mrs.  Macleod,  Angelique,  and  Pierre  and 
all  the  household  —  and  how  I  had  dreaded  his  com 
ing,  yet  longed  for  it,  because  it  would  unsettle  my 
future  which  was  not  to  be  in  the  manor  house  of 
Lamoral. 

I  told  him  all  this,  freely;  but  to  speak  of  my 
mother,  of  my  birth,  of  the  papers,  and  of  what  I 
wanted  them  for,  was  beyond  me.  The  secret  of  the 
Past,  projected  on  the  possible  Future,  loomed  gi 
gantic,  threatening.  I  would  let  well  enough  alone. 

"  You  poor  child,"  he  said,  when  I  finished.  That 
was  all;  but  I  knew  that  henceforth  I  should  have  a 
friend  in  Doctor  Rugvie.  He  drove  the  rest  of  the 
way  in  silence. 


XII 


WHEN  I  joined  them  an  hour  after  supper, 
they  were  talking  about  the  heater  that  had 
been  put  up  in  the  living-room  while  we  were 
away.  The  warmth  from  it  was  delightful,  but  the 
blazing  fire  in  the  fireplace  gave  the  true  cheer  to  the 
room,  added  charm  for  the  eye.  The  Doctor  looked 
up  as  I  came  in. 

"  Have  you  ever  seen  a  stove  like  this  —  Marcia?  " 
There  was  a  twinkle  both  in  his  voice  and  his  eye, 
as  he  called  me  for  the  first  time  by  my  Christian 
name.  He  was  tease  enough  to  try  it  in  the  presence 
of  the  rest  of  the  household. 

"  Oh,  yes,  my  grandfather  had  two  in  his  farmhouse. 
There  is  nothing  like  them  for  an  even  heat;  it  never 
burns  the  face.  The  top  is  a  lovely  place  to  fry 
griddlecakes." 

"  You  seem  to  know  this  species  root  and  branch, 
Miss  Farrell,"  said  Mr.  Ewart.  "  After  that  remark 
may  I  challenge  you  to  make  a  few  for  us  some  night 
for  supper?  " 

"  You  won't  have  to  challenge,  for  I  like  them  my 
self;  and  if  you  '11  trust  me  we  '11  have  a  griddlecake 
party  here  in  this  room  some  evening." 

"  My  first  innings,  Marcia!  "  cried  Jamie. 

"  I  '11  have  to  let  that  go  unchallenged,  Macleod, 
seeing  I  'm  host;  but  you  took  unfair  advantage  of 
me.  I  '11  get  even  with  you  sometime." 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  165 

"  Where  did  you  get  your  idea,  Gordon?  "  The 
Doctor  turned  to  his  friend. 

"  I  was  born  with  it,  you  might  say.  I  don't  re 
member  the  time  when  we  did  n't  have  two  or  three 
in  my  father's  house,  and  I  Ve  never  found  anything 
equal  to  them  for  heating.  They  're  all  out  of  date 
now;  there  is  no  manufactory  for  them.  I  had 
trouble  in  finding  these,  but  I  unearthed  three  last 
spring  when  I  was  in  northern  Vermont.  I  knew  we 
should  need  them,  and  they  keep  all  night,  you  know. 
I  1m  going  to  have  one  put  up  in  the  bathroom  - 
these  oil  stoves  are  an  abomination." 

"  Amen,"  said  the  Doctor. 

"  So  say  we  all  of  us.  —  Hark,  hear  that  wind!  " 
said  Jamie. 

The  stove  was  of  soapstone,  square,  with  hinged  top 
that,  opening  upward,  gave  room  for  the  insertion  of  a 
"  chunk  "  —  a  huge,  unsplittable,  knotty  piece  of 
maple,  birch,  or  beech.  Cale  came  in  with  one  while 
we  were  listening  to  the  roar  of  the  gale;  it  was  a 
section  of  a  maple  butt. 

"  There,  thet  '11  last  all  night  an'  inter  the  fore 
noon,"  he  said,  lowering  it  carefully  into  the  glowing 
brands  in  the  box.  "  I  '11  shet  up  the  drafts,  an' 
you  '11  have  a  small  furnace  with  no  dust  nor  dirt  to 
bother  with;  an'  the  ashes  is  good  fertilizer  —  can't 
be  beat  for  clover." 

"  Let 's  take  a  household  vote  on  the  subject  of 
modern  improvements  for  the  manor,"  said  Mr. 
Ewart,  helping  himself  to  a  cigar  and  then  passing  the 
box  to  Cale  who  had  turned  to  leave  the  room. 

Cale  took  one  with  an  "  I  thank  you"  this  being  a 
habit  of  speech  to  emphasize  the  last  word,  and  was 
about  to  go  out. 


i66  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

"  Stay  a  while  with  us,  Cale,".  said  Mr.  Ewart, 
speaking  as  a  matter  of  course;  "  I  want  the  opinion 
of  every  member  of  my  household  —  my  Anglo-Saxon 
one,  I  mean." 

The  two  men  stood  facing  each  other,  and  between 
them  I  saw  a  look  pass  that  bespoke  mutual  confi 
dence.  I  thought  they  must  have  made  rapid  prog 
ress  in  one  short  day. 

"  Wai,  I  don't  mind  if  I  do.  It 's  flatterin'  to  a 
man,  say  what  you  Ve  a  mind  ter,  ter  have  his  ad 
vice  asked  on  any  subject  —  let  alone  what  interests 
him." 

"  That 's  a  fine  back-handed  compliment  for  you. 
Ewart,"  said  Jamie,  whose  delight  in  Gale's  acqui 
escence  was  very  evident. 

"  I  took  it  so,"  said  Mr.  Ewart  quietly,  drawing  up 
a  chair  beside  his  and  motioning  to  Cale  who,  after  a 
slight  hesitation,  sat  down. 

How  cosy  it  was  around  the  fire !  Since  our  return 
from  the  pung  ride,  the  wind  had  risen,  keen  and  hard 
in  the  northwest  and,  crossing  the  Laurentians,  was 
swooping  down  upon  the  river  lands,  swaying  the 
great  spruces  in  the  woods  all  about  us  till  it  seemed 
as  if  ocean  surf  were  breaking  continuously  just  with 
out  the  walls  of  the  manor  and,  now  and  then,  spending 
its  force  upon  them  until  the  great  beams  quivered 
under  the  impact.  Every  blast  seemed  to  intensify 
our  comfort  within. 

"  The  telephone  will  be  a  great  convenience,"  Mrs. 
Macleod  remarked  from  the  corner  of  the  sofa,  look 
ing  up  from  her  knitting;  "  it  will  save  so  many  trips 
to  the  village  in  weather  like  this." 

"Is  it  a  long  distance  one,  Gordon?  "  said  Jamie 
who  was  lolling  on  the  other  end. 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  167 

"  Yes;  I  thought  we  might  as  well  connect  with 
almost  anywhere.  Our  household  is  rather  cosmo 
politan.  Does  this  suit  you?  " 

"  Suits  me  to  a  dot.  I  can  talk  with  my  'best  girl', 
as  they  call  her  in  the  States,  when  she  is  on  the  wing 
—  as  she  is  now." 

"  Oh,  ho,  Boy!  Has  it  come  to  this  so  soon?  "  The 
Doctor  sighed  audibly,  causing  us  to  laugh. 

"  Jamie's  '  best  girl '  changes  with  the  season  and 
sometimes  the  temperature,  Doctor,"  said  Mrs.  Mac- 
leod,  smiling  at  some  remembrance.  "  Do  you  recall 
a  little  girl  who  with  her  mother  had  lodgings  at 
Duncairn  House,  just  opposite  ours  in  Crieff?  " 

The  Doctor  nodded.  "  Yes,  and  how  Jamie  Mac- 
leod  enticed  her  away  one  summer  afternoon  to  the 
meadows  and  banks  of  the  Earn  just  below  the  garden 
gate,  and  the  hue  and  cry  that  was  raised  when  the 
two  failed  to  make  their  appearance  at  supper  time? 
Somebody  —  I  won't  say  who  — -  went  to  bed  without 
porridge  that  night.  What  was  her  name,  Boy?  " 

I  saw,  we  all  saw,  just  the  least  hesitation  on  Jamie's 
part  to  answer  with  his  usual  assurance.  We  saw, 
also,  the  touch  of  red  on  his  high  cheek  bones  deepen 
a  little. 

"  Bess  —  Bess  Stanley." 

"  There  is  a  Miss  Stanley  who  visited  at  the  new 
manor  last  summer  —  any  relation,  do  you  know?  " 
asked  Mr.  Ewart. 

"  Same,"  Jamie  answered  concisely,  meanwhile 
puffing  vigorously  at  his  pipe. 

"  The  plot  thickens,  Mrs.  Macleod,"  said  the  Doctor 
dubiously. 

"  Is  she  tall  and  slender  and  fair,  Jamie?  "  I  put 
what  I  considered  an  opportune  question;  I  knew  it 


i68  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

would  both  surprise  and  irritate  him  as  well  as  rouse 
his  curiosity  of  which  he  has  an  abundance.  I  really 
spoke  at  a  venture  because  the  name  recalled  to  me 
the  two  girls  in  the  sleeping-car  and  their  destination : 
Richelieu-en-Bas. 

He  turned  to  me  with  irony  in  his  look.  "  She  is  all 
you  say.  May  I  make  so  bold  as  to  enquire  of  you 
whether  you  speak  from  knowledge,  or  if  you  simply 
made  a  good  guess?  " 

"  From  knowledge  —  first  hand,  of  course,"  I  said 
with  assurance. 

He  sat  up  then,  eyeing  me  defiantly,  much  to  the 
others'  amusement. 

"  Perhaps  you  can  give  me  further  information 
about  the  young  lady  —  all  will  be  gratefully  re 
ceived." 

"  No,  nothing  —  except  that  I  believe  it  was  she 
through  whom  you  obtained  Cale,  wras  n't  it?  "  I 
heard  Cale  chuckle. 

"  Look  here,  Marcia,"  he  began  severely  enough, 
then  burst  into  one  of  his  hearty  laughs  that  dissolves 
his  irritation  at  once;  "  you  '11  be  telling  me  what  she 
wrote  me  in  my  last  letter  if  you  're  such  a  mind  reader. 
I  say,"  he  said,  settling  himself  into  a  chair  beside 
me,  "  let  up  on  a  man  once  in  a  while  in  the  presence 
of  such  a  cloud  of  witnesses,  won't  you?  Take  me 
when  I  'm  alone.  The  truth  is,  Ewart,  Marcia  gives 
herself  airs  because  she  is  three  years  my  senior. 
She  takes  the  meanest  kind  of  advantage;  and 
I  can't  hit  back  because  she  's  a  woman.  But  about 
that  telephone,  Ewart;  are  they  going  to  run  it  on 
the  trees," 

"  It 's  the  only  way  at  this  season." 

"  Could  n't  it  remain  so  the  year  round?  "  I  asked. 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  169 

"  Why?  "  said  Mr.  Ewart. 

"  Because  the  poles  will  just  spoil  everything;  as 
it  is,  it  is  —  " 

"  Is  what,  Marcia?  Out  with  it,"  said  Jamie  en 
couragingly. 

"  Perfect  as  it  is,"  I  said  boldly,  willing  they  should 
know  what  I  thought  of  this  wilderness  of  neglect  that 
surrounded  us  in  the  heart  of  French  Canada. 

"  Guess  we  can  keep  it  perfect,  as  you  say,  Marcia, 
'thout  havin'  to  rub  the  burrs  off'n  our  coats  every 
time  we  go  round  the  house,"  said  Cale.  "  We  're 
going  to  do  some  pretty  tall  cuttin'  inter  some  of  this 
underbrush  and  dead  timber  next  week  if  the  snow 
ain't  too  deep." 

"Oh,  Cale,  it  will  spoil  it!" 

"  Wai,  thet  's  as  you  look  at  it;  but  't  ain't  good 
policy  to  keep  a  fire- trap  quite  so  near  to  a  livin'-place ; 
makes  insurance  rates  higher." 

"  How  would  you  feel  then  about  having  a  modern 
hot  water  heater  put  into  the  old  manor,  Miss  Far- 
rell?  "  Mr.  Ewart  put  the  question  to  me. 

"  Put  it  to  a  vote,"  I  replied. 

"  All  in  favor,  aye,"  he  continued. 

There  was  silence  in  the  room  except  for  one  of  the 
dogs  that,  asleep  under  the  table,  stirred  uneasily 
and  whined  as  if  rousing  from  a  dream  of  an  unattain 
able  bone. 

"  It 's    a    vote    against.      How   about    piping    in 

rn<0  JJ 
.Jdb; 

"  No!  "  we  protested  as  one. 

"  Settled,"  he  said  smiling.  We  saw  that  our  de 
rision  pleased  him. 

"  Confess,  now,  Gordon,  you  did  n't  want  any  such 
nnovations  yourself,"  said  the  Doctor. 


170  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

"  I  did  n't,  for  I  like  my  —  home,  as  it  is,"  he  said 
simply. 

"  I  like  to  hear  you  use  thatword  '  home',  Gordon," 
said  the  Doctor,  looking  intently  into  the  fire;  "  as 
long  as  I  've  known  you,  I  think  I  've  never  heard  you 
use  it." 

"  No."  The  man  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  hearth 
spoke  decidedly,  but  in  a  tone  that  did  not  invite 
further  confidence.  "  I  've  never  intended  to  use  it 
until  I  could  feel  the  sense  of  it." 

"  Another  who  has  felt  what  it  is  to  be  a  stranger 
in  this  world,"  I  thought  to  myself.  And  the  fact  that 
there  were  others,  made  me,  for  the  moment,  feel  less  a 
stranger.  I  was  glad  to  hear  him  speak  so  frankly. 

The  Doctor  looked  up,  nodding  understandingly. 

"  Now  I  want  some  advice  from  all  this  household," 
he  said  earnestly,  and  I  thought  to  change  the  sub 
ject;  "  it 's  about  the  farm  I  've  hired  and  the  experi 
ment  with  it.  Give  it  fully,  each  of  you,  and,  like  every 
other  man,  I  suppose  I  shall  take  what  agrees  with 
my  own  way  of  looking  at  it.  My  plans  were  so  in 
definite  when  I  wrote  to  you  to  hire  it,  Gordon,  that 
I  went  into  no  detail ;  and  I  'm  not  at  all  sure  that 
they  are  so  clear  to  me  now.  Here  's  where  I  want 
help." 

"  That 's  not  like  you,  John;  what 's  up?  "  said  his 
friend. 

"  I  want  to  start  the  thing  right,  and  I  'm  going  to 
tell  you  just  how  I  'm  placed;  a  deuce  of  a  fix  it  is 

"     'O    " 
LUO. 

Cale  put  on  a  log  and  left  the  room,  saying  good 
night  as  he  passed  out.  I  gathered  up  my  sewing 
—  I  was  hemming  some  napkins  —  and  made  a  mo 
tion  to  follow  him. 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  171 

The  Doctor  rose.  "  Marcia,"  —  he  put  out  a  hand 
as  if  to  detain  me;  he  spoke  peremptorily,  —  "  come 
back.  There  are  no  secrets  among  us,  and  I  want  you 
to  advise  with." 

There  seemed  nothing  to  do  but  to  obey,  and  I 
was  perfectly  willing  to,  because  I  wanted  to  hear 
all  and  everything  about  the  farm  project  that 
threatened  to  break  up  my  pleasant  life  in  the 
manor. 

I  took  up  my  work  again. 

"  Put  down  your  work,  Marcia;  fold  your  hands 
and  listen  to  me.  I  want  your  whole  attention." 

I  obeyed  promptly.  Jamie  gleefully  rubbed  his 
hands. 

"  It  takes  you,  Doctor,  to  make  Marcia  mind." 

"  I  'm  a  man  of  years,  Boy,"  the  Doctor  retorted, 
thereby  reducing  Jamie  to  silence. 

We  sat  expectant;  but  evidently  the  Doctor  was 
in  no  hurry  to  open  up  his  subject.  After  a  few  min 
utes  of  deep  thought,  he  spoke  slowly,  almost  as  if  to 
himself: 

"  I  'm  wondering  where  to  begin,  what  to  take  hold 
of  first.  The  ordering  of  life  is  beyond  all  science  — 
we  've  found  that  out,  we  so-called  '  men  of  science  '. 
The  truth  is,  I  believe  I  have  a  '  conscience  fund  '  in 
the  bank  and  on  my  mind.  I  know  I  am  speaking 
blindly,  and  perhaps  reasoning  blindly,  and  it 's  be 
cause  I  want  you  to  see  things  for  me  more  clearly 
than  I  do,  and  through  a  different  medium,  that  I 
am  going  to  tell  you,  as  concisely  as  I  can  —  and 
without  mentioning  names  —  of  an  experience  I  had 
more  than  a  quarter  of  a  century  ago.  I  Ve  had 
several  of  the  kind  since,  they  are  common  in  our  pro 
fession  —  but  the  result  of  this  special  experience  is 


172  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

unique."  He  paused,  continuing  to  look  steadfastly 
into  the  fire. 

In  the  silence  we  heard  the  sweep  of  the  wind 
through  the  woods,  now  and  then  the  scraping  swish 
of  a  pine  branch  brushing  the  roof  beneath  it. 

"  I  recall  that  it  was  in  December.  I  was  twenty- 
nine,  and  had  just  got  a  foothold  on  the  first  round  of 
the  professional  ladder.  Near  midnight  I  was  called 
to  go  down  into  one  of  the  slum  districts  —  I  don't 
intend  to  mention  names  —  of  New  York.  There  in 
a  basement,  I  found  a  woman  who  had  just  been  res 
cued  from  suicide." 

He  paused,  still  keeping  his  gaze  fixed  intently  on 
the  fire.  And  I? 

At  the  first  words  a  faint  sickness  came  upon  me. 
Was  I  to  hear  this  again?  —  here,  remote  from  the 
environment  from  which  I  had  so  recently  fled?  Could 
it  be  possible  that  I  was  to  hear  again  that  account  of 
my  mother's  death?  I  struggled  for  control.  They 
must  not  know,  they  should  not  see  that  struggle. 
Intent  on  keeping  every  feature  passive,  hoping  that 
in  the  firelight  whatever  my  face  might  have  shown 
would  pass  unnoticed,  I  waited  for  the  Doctor's  next 
word. 

"  It  seems  unprofessional,  perhaps,  to  enter  into  any 
detail,  but  we  are  far  away  from  that  environment 
now  —  and  in  time,  too,  for  it  was  over  a  quarter  of  a 
century  ago.  She  was  very  young,  nineteen  perhaps, 
and  about  to  become  a  mother.  I  remained  with  her 
till  morning.  I  knew  she  would  never  come  through 
her  trial  alive.  I  went  again  in  the  evening  and 
stayed  with  her  till  her  child  was  born  and  —  to  the 
end  which  came  an  hour  afterwards.  During  all  those 
twenty-four  hours  she  spoke  but  twice.  She  gave  me 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  173 

no  name,  although  I  asked  her;  no  name  of  friends 
even  —  God  knows  if  she  had  any,  or  why  was  she 
there? 

"  Now,  here  is  my  dilemma:  in  the  morning,  I  signed 
the  death  certificate  and  then  went  out  of  the  city 
on  a  case  that  kept  me  forty-eight  hours.  On  my  re 
turn,  the  woman,  who  had  rescued  this  poor  girl,  - 
a  woman  who  took  in  washing  and  ironing  in  that 
basement  —  told  me  a  man  had  appeared  at  the  house 
to  claim  the  body  he  said  was  his  wife's.  She  gave 
me  the  man's  name,  but  the  name  of  this  man  was  not 
the  name  of  the  husband  according  to  a  marriage 
certificate  which  I  found  in  an  envelope  the  young 
woman  entrusted  to  me  for  her  child.  At  any  rate, 
he  had  claimed  the  body  and  taken  it  away. 

"  Now,  ordinarily  the  living  waves  of  existence  close 
very  soon  over  such  an  episode  —  all  too  common; 
and,  so  far  as  I  am  concerned,  in  such  and  other  simi 
lar  cases  I  forget;  it  is  well  that  I  can.  But  I  Ve 
never  been  permitted  to  forget  this!  " 

He  made  this  announcement  emphatically,  looking 
up  suddenly  from  the  fire,  and  glancing  at  each  of  us 
in  turn. 

"  And,  moreover,  I  don't  believe  I  am  ever  going  to 
be  permitted  to  forget.  Some  one  intends  I  shall  re 
member! 

"  With  me  it  was  merely  a  charity  case  —  one,  it 
is  true,  that  called  forth  my  deepest  sympathy.  The 
circumstances  were  peculiar.  The  woman  was  young, 
rarely  attractive  in  face,  refined,  well  dressed.  Her 
absolute  silence  concerning  herself  during  all  that 
weary  time;  her  heroic  endurance  and,  I  may  say, 
angelic  acceptance  of  her  martyrdom  —  and  all  this 
in  such  an  environment!  How  could  it  help  making 


176  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

trails  and  roads  that  cross  and  recross;  so  many  that 
end  in  swamp  and  bog;  so  many  that  lead  nowhither; 
so  many  that  are  lost  on  the  mountain.  And  so  few 
guideposts  —  I  wish  there  were  more  for  us  all !  You 
may  bet  your  life  that  man  —  whether  the  girl's  hus 
band  or  lover  —  has  had  to  tread  thorns  until  his 
feet  bled  before  he  could  clear  his  way  through.  Those 
five  hundred  dollars,  in  yearly  deposits,  he  intends 
shall  be  guideposts,  and  he  trusts  you  to  put  them 
up  in  the  wilderness  where  they  will  do  the 
most  good.  — - 1  'd  hate  to  be  that  man!  Would  you 
mind  telling  me.  Doctor,  how  she  attempted  to  make 
way  with  herself?  " 

"  Tried  to  drown  herself  from  one  of  the  North 
River  piers." 

"  And  her  child  too,"  said  Jamie  musingly;  "  there 
came  near  being  two  graves  in  his  wilderness."  He 
thought  a  moment  in  silence.  "  Make  the  home  on 
the  farm  with  the  money,  Doctor  Rugvie;  use  the  in 
terest  in  helping  others  who  have  lost  their  way  - 
in  the  wilderness." 

"  Good  advice,  Boy,  I  '11  remember  to  act  on  it." 
The  Doctor  spoke  gratefully,  heartily.  His  glance 
rested  affectionately  upon  the  long  figure  on  the  sofa. 
Was  he  wondering,  as  I  was,  how  Jamie  at  twenty- 
three  could  reach  certain  depths  which  his  particular 
plummet  could  never  have  sounded?  I  intended  to 
ask  him  what  he  thought  of  Jamie's  outlook  on  life, 
sometime  when  we  should  be  alone  together. 

"  Mrs.  Macleod,"  he  said,  "  do  you  think  with  your 
son?  " 

She  hesitated.  It  is  her  peculiarity  that  a  direct 
question,  the  answer  to  which  involves  a  decision, 
flusters  her  painfully. 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  177 

"  I  shall  have  to  think  it  over,  like  Mr.  Ewart,"  she 
replied. 

"  And  you,  Marcia,"  he  turned  to  me.  Out  of  my 
knowledge  I  answered  unhesitatingly: 

"  It  's  not  of  the  child  I  'm  thinking;  she  could  n't 
accept  the  money  knowing  for  what  it  is  paid.  Nor 
am  I  thinking  about  those  women  who  need  '  guide- 
posts ',  Jamie.  I  'm  thinking  of  that  other  woman  who 
lived  in  the  basement  and  took  in  washing  and  ironing, 
the  one  who  rescued  that  other  from  her  misery  and 
cared  for  her  with  your  help,  Doctor  Rugvie  — 
should  n't  she  be  remembered?  She,  who  is  living? 
If  I  had  that  money  at  my  disposal,  I  would  found  the 
farm  home  and  put  that  woman  at  the  head  of  it. 
You  may  be  sure  she  would  know  how  to  put  up  the 
guideposts  —  and  in  the  right  places  too." 

I  spoke  eagerly,  almost  impulsively. 

The  Doctor  looked  at  me  comprehendingly  —  he 
knew  that  I  knew  that  it  was  of  Delia  Beaseley  he 
had  been  speaking  —  and  smiled. 

"  Another  idea,  Marcia,  also  worth  remembering 
and  acting  upon  with  Jamie's." 

I  turned  suddenly  to  Mr.  Ewart,  not  knowing  why 
I  felt  impelled  to;  perhaps  his  silence,  his  noticeable 
unresponsiveness  to  his  friend's  proposition,  impressed 
as  well  as  surprised  me;  at  any  rate  I  looked  up  very 
quickly  and  caught  the  look  he  gave  me.  It  half  terri 
fied  me.  What  had  I  said  to  offend  him?  The  steel 
gray  eyes  were  almost  black,  and  the  look  —  had  it 
possessed  physical  force,  I  felt  it  would  have  crushed 
me.  It  was  severe,  indignant,  uncompromising.  I 
was  mystified.  The  look  was  more  flashed  at  me  than 
directed  at  me  for  the  space  of  half  a  second  —  then 
he  spoke  to  Jamie. 


178  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

"  You  are  right,  Jamie,  about  the  wilderness;  we  '11 
talk  this  matter  over  sometime  together  before  John 
goes,"  - 1  perceived  clearly  that  Mrs.  Macleod  and 
I  were  shut  out  of  future  conferences,  —  "  and  I  know 
we  can  make  some  plan  satisfactory  to  him  and  to  us 
all.  Count  on  me,  John,  to  help  you  in  carrying  out 
the  best  plan  whatever  it  may  be.  In  any  case,  it  will 
mean  that  we  are  to  have  more  of  your  company,  and 
that 's  what  I  want."  He  spoke  lightly. 

Doctor  Rugvie  smiled,  then  his  features  grew  earn 
est  again. 

"  Gordon,  I  want  to  put  a  question  to  you,  and 
after  you  to  Jamie." 

"  Yes;    go  ahead." 

"  I  have  given  you  the  mere  outlines  of  a  bare  and 
ugly  episode  of  New  York  city.  That  man,  or  those 
two  men,  or  that  dual  entity,  has  never  ceased  to  per 
plex  me.  How  does  it  look  to  you,  knowing  merely 
the  outlines?  " 

"  As  if  the  woman  had  been  dealing  with  two  differ 
ent  men,"  he  replied  almost  indifferently. 

The  Doctor  looked  at  him  earnestly,  and  I 
saw  he  was  puzzled  by  his  friend's  attitude.  "  That 
may  be  —  one  never  can  tell  in  such  cases,"  he 
answered  quietly;  but  I  could  feel  his  disappoint 
ment. 

"  That 's  queer,  Ewart,"  said  Jamie,  gravely;  "  to 
me  it  looks  as  if  two  men  had  done  a  girl  an  irreparable 
wrong."  Perhaps  we  all  felt  that  the  conversation 
had  been  carried  a  little  too  far  in  this  direction.  The 
Doctor  turned  it  into  other  channels,  but  it  lagged. 
I  felt  uncomfortable,  and  wished  I  had  insisted  upon 
going  up  to  my  room  when  the  subject  of  the  farm 
was  broached.  After  all,  we  had  come  to  no  decision, 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  179 

and  I  doubted  if  the  Doctor  was  much  the  wiser  for  all 
our  opinions. 

Marie's  entrance  with  the  porridge  relieved  the 
tension  somewhat,  and  I  was  glad  to  say  good  night 
as  soon  as  I  had  finished  mine. 


XIII 

DOCTOR  RUGVIE  had  opened  an  easy  way  of 
approach  for  me  to  ask  him  what  I  would,  but 
that  question  put  by  Mr.  Ewart  in  regard  to 
the  child,  whether  it  was  a  boy  or  a  girl,  seemed  to 
block  the  way,  for  a  time  at  least,  impassably.  If  I 
were  to  make  inquiry  now  of  the  Doctor  concerning 
my  identity  and  ask  the  name  of  my  father,  naturally 
he  would  infer,  after  Mr.  Ewart's  remark,  that  the 
question  of  the  property  was  my  impelling  motive. 
My  reason  told  me  the  time  was  ripe  to  settle  this 
personal  question,  but  something  —  was  it  intuition? 
I  believe  in  that,  if  only  we  would  follow  its  lead  and 
leave  reason  to  lag  in  chains  far  behind  it  —  seemed 
to  paralyze  my  power  of  will  in  making  any  move  to 
ascertain  my  paternal  parentage.  And  yet  I  had 
dared  to  respond  to  that  demand  in  Jamie's  advertise 
ment  "  of  good  parentage  "! 

"  Well,  I  am  myself,"  I  thought,  half  defiantly, 
"  and  after  all,  it 's  not  what  those  who  are  dead  and 
gone  stood  for  that  counts.  It 's  what  I  stand  for; 
and  what  I  am  rests  with  my  will  to  make.  They  '11 
have  to  accept  me  for  what  I  am." 

I  was  in  the  kitchen,  concocting  an  old-fashioned 
Indian  pudding  and  showing  Angelique  about  the 
oven,  as  these  thoughts  passed  through  my  mind.  At 
that  moment  Jamie  opened  the  door  and  looked  in. 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  181 

"  I  say,  Marcia  —  awfully  busy?  " 

"  No,  not  now;  what  do  you  want?  " 

"  You  —  I  'm  lonesome.  Come  on  into  the  living- 
room  —  I  Ve  built  up  a  roaring  fire  there  —  and  let 's 
talk;  nobody  's  around." 

"  Where  's  Doctor  Rugvie?  " 

"  Gone  off  with  Cale  to  the  farm.  He  '11  get  pneu 
monia  if  he  does  n't  look  out;  the  place  is  like  an  ice 
house  at  this  season." 

I  slipped  the  pudding  into  the  oven.  "  Now  look 
out  for  it  and  keep  enough  milk  in  it  till  it  wheys,  An- 
gelique."  I  turned  to  Jamie.  "  Where 's  Mr. 
Ewart?  " 

"  Oh,  Ewart 's  off  nosing  about  in  Quebec  for  some 
old  furniture  for  his  den.  Pierre  drove  him  to  the 
train  just  after  breakfast.  He  told  mother  he  would 
be  back  in  time  for  supper." 

"  That 's  queer,"  I  said,  following  him  through  the 
bare  offices,  one  of  which  was  to  be  the  den,  into  the 
living-room  where  stale  cigar  smoke  still  lingered. 
"  Whew!  Let 's  have  in  some  fresh  air." 

I  opened  the  hinged  panes  in  the  double  windows; 
opened  the  front  door  and  let  in  the  keen  crisp  air. 

"There,  now,"  I  closed  them;  "we  can  'talk' 
as  you  say  in  comfort.  I  did  n't  air  out  early 
this  morning,  for  when  I  came  in  I  found  Mr.  Ewart 
writing.  He  looked  for  all  the  world  as  if  he  were 
making  his  last  will  and  testament.  I  beat  a  double- 
quick  retreat." 

"  I  '11  bet  you  did.  I  'd  make  tracks  if  Ewart  looked 
like  that."  He  drew  up  two  chairs  before  the  fire. 
"  Here,  sit  here  by  me;  let 's  be  comfy  when  we  can. 
I  say,  Marcia  — 

He  paused,  leaning  to  the  fire  in  his  favorite  posi- 


182  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

tion:  arms  along  his  knees,  and  clasped  hands  hanging 
between  them.  He  turned  and  looked  at  me  ruefully. 

"  We  all  got  beyond  our  depth,  did  n't  we,  last 
night?  " 

"  I  thought  so." 

"  The  Doctor  's  a  dear,  is  n't  he?  " 

"  He  's  the  dearest  kind  of  a  dear,  and  I  could  n't 
bear  to  see  him  snubbed  by  your  lord  of  the  manor." 

Jamie  nodded.  "  That  was  rather  rough.  I  don't 
understand  that  side  of  Ewart  —  never  have  seen  it 
but  once  before,  and  I  would  n't  mind,  you  know, 
Marcia,"  he  lowered  his  voice,  "  if  I  never  saw  it 
again.  It  made  no  end  of  an  atmosphere,  did  n't  it?  " 

"  Thick  and  —  muggy,"  I  replied,  searching  for  the 
word  that  should  express  the  mental  and  spiritual 
atmospheric  condition,  the  result  of  Mr.  Ewart's  atti 
tude  in  last  evening's  talk.  "  And  it  has  n't  wholly 
cleared  up  yet." 

He  nodded.  "  I  believe  that 's  why  he  took  himself 
out  of  the  way  this  morning.  Look  here  —  I  've  a 
great  overpowering  longing  to  confide  in  you,  Marcia." 
He  laughed. 

"  Confide  then;  I  'm  a  regular  safe  deposit  and  trust 
company.  Tell  me,  do;  I  'm  dying  to  talk." 

"  Oh,  you  are!  "  He  turned  to  me  with  his  own 
bright  face  illumined.  "  Is  n't  it  good  that  we  're 
young,  Marcia?  I  feel  that  forcibly  when  I  am  with 
so  many  older  men." 

"  I  'm  just  beginning  to  feel  young,  Jamie;  to  see 
my  way  through  that  wilderness  you  spoke  of." 

I  knew  his  sympathy,  his  understanding,  not  of  my 
life  but  of  the  condition  of  mind  to  which  that  life  had 
brought  me.  It  is  this  quick  understanding  of  an 
other's  "  sphere  ",  I  may  call  it,  that  makes  the  young 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  183 

Scotsman  so  wonderfully  attractive  to  all  who  meet 
him. 

"  You  know  what  the  Doctor  said  about  the  world 
of  which  he  told  us  last  night  and  of  Andre's  world?  " 

I  nodded. 

"  Well,  one  night  in  camp  —  last  summer,  you 
know,  it  was  just  before  Ewart  left  me  there  —  old 
Andre  told  us  what  happened  years  ago  up  there  in 
the  wilds  of  the  Saguenay.  He  said  one  day  two  In 
dian  guides,  Montagnais,  came  to  his  camp.  The  old 
est,  Root-of-the-Pine,  a  friend  of  Andre's,  brought 
him  word  from  old  Mere  Guillardeau,  Andre's  sister  — 
you  know  her  —  who  is  living  here  in  Lamoral.  She 
told  him  to  receive  two  of  the  English,  a  man  and 
a  woman,  as  guests  for  a  month.  The  Indian  told 
Andre  they  were  waiting  across  the  portage. 

"  Andre  said  he  went  over  to  meet  them,  and  they 
stayed  with  him  not  only  one  month,  but  four.  He 
told  us  the  girl  had  a  voice  as  sweet  as  the  nightin 
gale's;  that  her  eyes  were  like  wood  violets,  her  laugh 
like  the  forest  brook.  He  said  they  loved  each  other 
madly,  so  madly  that  even  his  old  blood  was  stirred 
at  times.  He  was  alone  with  them  there  in  that  wilder 
ness  for  all  those  months,  caring  for  them,  fishing, 
hunting,  picking  the  mountain  berries,  till  the  first 
snow  flew.  Then  they  took  their  flight. 

"  Mere  Guillardeau  had  sent  in  her  message:  '  Ask 
no  questions.  You  can  confess  and  be  shriven  when 
you  come  to  Richelieu-en-Bas.'  He  obeyed  to  the 
letter. 

"  He  knew,  he  said,  that  they  were  not  married, 
but  he  caught  enough  of  their  English  to  know  they 
were  looking  forward  to  being  married  when  it  should 
be  made  possible  for  them.  Whence  they  came,  he 


182  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

tion:  arms  along  his  knees,  and  clasped  hands  hanging 
between  them.  He  turned  and  looked  at  me  ruefully. 

"  We  all  got  beyond  our  depth,  did  n't  we,  last 
night?  " 

"  I  thought  so." 

"  The  Doctor  's  a  dear,  is  n't  he?  " 

"  He  's  the  dearest  kind  of  a  dear,  and  I  could  n't 
bear  to  see  him  snubbed  by  your  lord  of  the  manor." 

Jamie  nodded.  "  That  was  rather  rough.  I  don't 
understand  that  side  of  Ewart  —  never  have  seen  it 
but  once  before,  and  I  would  n't  mind,  you  know, 
Marcia,"  he  lowered  his  voice,  "  if  I  never  saw  it 
again.  It  made  no  end  of  an  atmosphere,  did  n't  it?  " 

"  Thick  and  —  muggy,"  I  replied,  searching  for  the 
word  that  should  express  the  mental  and  spiritual 
atmospheric  condition,  the  result  of  Mr.  Ewart's  atti 
tude  in  last  evening's  talk.  "  And  it  has  n't  wholly 
cleared  up  yet." 

He  nodded.  "  I  believe  that 's  why  he  took  himself 
out  of  the  way  this  morning.  Look  here  —  I  've  a 
great  overpowering  longing  to  confide  in  you,  Marcia." 
He  laughed. 

"  Confide  then;  I  'm  a  regular  safe  deposit  and  trust 
company.  Tell  me,  do;  I  'm  dying  to  talk." 

"  Oh,  you  are!  "  He  turned  to  me  with  his  own 
bright  face  illumined.  "  Is  n't  it  good  that  we  're 
young,  Marcia?  I  feel  that  forcibly  when  I  am  with 
so  many  older  men." 

"  I  'm  just  beginning  to  feel  young,  Jamie;  to  see 
my  way  through  that  wilderness  you  spoke  of." 

I  knew  his  sympathy,  his  understanding,  not  of  my 
life  but  of  the  condition  of  mind  to  which  that  life  had 
brought  me.  It  is  this  quick  understanding  of  an 
other's  "  sphere  ",  I  may  call  it,  that  makes  the  young 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  183 

Scotsman  so  wonderfully  attractive  to  all  who  meet 
him. 

"  You  know  what  the  Doctor  said  about  the  world 
of  which  he  told  us  last  night  and  of  Andre's  world?  " 

I  nodded. 

"  Well,  one  night  in  camp  —  last  summer,  you 
know,  it  was  just  before  Ewart  left  me  there  —  old 
Andre  told  us  what  happened  years  ago  up  there  in 
the  wilds  of  the  Saguenay.  He  said  one  day  two  In 
dian  guides,  Montagnais,  came  to  his  camp.  The  old 
est,  Root-of-the-Pine,  a  friend  of  Andre's,  brought 
him  word  from  old  Mere  Guillardeau,  Andre's  sister  — 
you  know  her  —  who  is  living  here  in  Lamoral.  She 
told  him  to  receive  two  of  the  English,  a  man  and 
a  woman,  as  guests  for  a  month.  The  Indian  told 
Andre  they  were  waiting  across  the  portage. 

"  Andre  said  he  went  over  to  meet  them,  and  they 
stayed  with  him  not  only  one  month,  but  four.  He 
told  us  the  girl  had  a  voice  as  sweet  as  the  nightin 
gale's;  that  her  eyes  were  like  wood  violets,  her  laugh 
like  the  forest  brook.  He  said  they  loved  each  other 
madly,  so  madly  that  even  his  old  blood  was  stirred 
at  tunes.  He  was  alone  with  them  there  in  that  wilder 
ness  for  all  those  months,  caring  for  them,  fishing, 
hunting,  picking  the  mountain  berries,  till  the  first 
snow  flew.  Then  they  took  their  flight. 

"  Mere  Guillardeau  had  sent  in  her  message:  '  Ask 
no  questions.  You  can  confess  and  be  shriven  when 
you  come  to  Richelieu-en-Bas.'  He  obeyed  to  the 
letter. 

"  He  knew,  he  said,  that  they  were  not  married, 
but  he  caught  enough  of  their  English  to  know  they 
were  looking  forward  to  being  married  when  it  should 
be  made  possible  for  them.  Whence  they  came,  he 


184  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

never  knew;  whither  they  went,  he  never  asked. 
They  came,  as  birds  come  that  mate  in  the  spring; 
they  went,  as  the  late  birds  go  after  the  mating  season 
is  over,  with  the  first  snow-fall;  but,  Marcia  — 

"  Yes,  Jamie." 

"  You  won't  mind  my  speaking  out  after  what  was 
said  last  evening?  " 

"  I  mind  nothing  from  you." 

"  Andre  told  us  that  before  they  left  he  knew  a 
nestling  was  on  its  way;  the  slender  form,  like  a  willow 
shoot,  as  he  expressed  it,  was  rounder,  and  the  face 
of  the  girl  was  the  face  of  a  tender  doe.  You  should 
have  heard  him  tell  it  —  there  in  the  setting  of  forest, 
lake  and  mountain! 

"  '  All  this  happened  long,  long  ago,'  he  said,  '  but 
still  I  hear  her  voice  in  the  forest;  still  I  see  her  eyes 
in  the  first  wood  violets;  see  her  smile  that  made  sun 
shine  in  the  darkest  woods.  Still  I  hear  her  light  steps 
about  the  camp  and  follow  her  still  in  thought  across 
the  last  portage  when  we  carried  her  in  our  arms; 
still  see  her  waving  her  hand  to  me  from  the  canoe  that 
floated  like  a  brown  leaf  on  the  blue  lake  waters. 
Wherever  she  may  be,  may  the  Holy  Virgin,  Our  Lady 
of  the  Snows,  guard  her  —  and  her  child !  I  have 
waited  all  these  years  for  her  to  come  again.' 

"  Marcia  —  Andre  called  their  love  '  forest  love  '. 
Sometimes  I  think  he  spoke  truly;  untaught,  he  knew 
the  difference." 

I  listened,  caught  by  the  pathos  of  the  tale,  the 
charm  of  old  Andre's  words;  but  in  love  I  was  un 
taught.  I  wondered  how  Jamie  could  know  the  "  dif 
ference  ". 

"  But  now  to  my  point.  Of  course  I  listened  all  eyes 
and  ears  to  Andre.  When  he  finished,  the  camp  fire 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  185 

was  low.  The  full  moon  had  risen  above  the 
waters  of  the  lake  and  lighted  the  tree-fringed  shore. 
I  turned  to  Ewart,  and  caught  the  same  look  on  his 
face  that  I  saw  last  night  when  the  Doctor  was  telling 
his  story :  the  look  of  a  man  who  is  seeing  ghosts  — 
more  than  one.  For  three  days  I  scarce  got  a  decent 
word  when  he  was  with  me,  which  was  seldom;  he 
was  off  by  himself  in  the  forest.  So  you  see  this,  last 
night's  occurrence,  does  not  wholly  surprise  me." 

We  sat  for  a  while  without  talking.  Jamie  took  his 
pipe,  filled  and  lighted  it  with  a  glowing  coal. 

"  Jamie,"  I  said  at  last.  He  nodded  encourag 
ingly. 

"  You  know  you  told  me  about  that  queer  rumor 
that  crops  out  at  such  odd  times  and  places  —  about 
Mr.  Ewart's  having  been  married  and  divorced,  and 
the  boy  he  is  educating,  '  Boy  or  girl?  '  you  know  he 
said  —  " 

"  Yes,  I  know." 

"  Might  n't  it  be  —  I  know  you  did  n't  believe  it, 
but  would  n't  it  be  possible  that  there  is  some  truth 
in  that,  distorted,  perhaps,  but  enough  to  make  him 
suffer  when  there  is  any  reference  to  love  that  has 
brought  with  it  misery  and  suffering?  " 

"  It  may  be  you  're  right;  I  had  n't  thought  of  it 
in  that  light.  Of  course,  I  never  heard  of  the  rumor 
till  I  came  back  from  camp  in  September;  then  it 
seemed  to  be  in  the  air.  I  wonder  if  the  Doctor  has 
ever  heard  anything." 

"  Probably  his  coming  home  so  soon  and  making  his 
home  here  started  the  gossip.  Jamie  —  " 

"  Yes." 

"  You  said  he  never  spoke  much  to  you  about  his 
personal  affairs  —  that  you  don't  know  so  very  much 


i86  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

of  his  intimate  personal  life.  Does  n't  that  prove  that 
he  has  had  some  trouble,  some  painful  experience?  " 

"  Woman's  logic,  but  I  suppose  he  has.  Most  men 
have  been  through  the  wilderness,  or  been  lost  in  it, 
by  the  time  they  are  forty.  I  should  think  if  —  mind 
you,  I  say  'if  —  he  was  ever  married,  ever  divorced, 
ever  had  a  child  somewhere,  he  might  find  his  special 
trail  difficult  at  times;  but  he  has  n't  lost  it!  Ewart 
does  not  lose  a  trail  so  easily !  Look  at  his  experience 
—  Oxford,  London,  Australian  sheep-ranchman,  for 
ester  here  in  Lamoral !  And  he  's  so  tender  with  every 
thing  and  everybody.  That 's  what  makes  him  so 
beloved  here  in  this  French  settlement." 

"  Except  towards  the  Doctor  last  night." 

"  That 's  so;  but  he  is  tender  just  the  same.  I  've 
seen  that  trait  in  him  so  many  times." 

"  I  should  think  he  might  be  —  and  like  adamant 
at  others,"  I  said,  and  began  to  put  the  room  to  rights. 


XIV 

"  ~T  IT  TE  shall  miss  the  Doctor  no  end,"  said  Jamie 
V  V  ruefully. 

We  caught  the  last  wave  of  his  hand  ; 
the  pung's  broad  fur-behung  back  could  no  longer  be 
seen;  the  jingle  of  the  bells  grew  fainter;  soon  there 
was  silence. 

"  He  promised  to  come  again  in  February.  And, 
now,  what  next?  "  I  turned  to  Mrs.  Macleod  who 
was  standing  with  Jamie  at  the  window. 

"  There  does  n't  seem  to  be  any  '  next '  ?  "  she 
answered  with  such  evident  dejection  that  Jamie  and 
I  laughed  at  her. 

"  Take  heart,  mither,"  her  son  admonished  her, 
using  for  the  first  time  in  my  presence  the  softer 
Scotch  for  mother. 

"  It 's  been  such  a  pleasant  week  for  us  —  and  I 
find  Mr.  Ewart  so  different;  not  that  I  mean  to  criti 
cize  our  host,"  she  added  hastily  and  apologetically. 
She  seemed  to  take  pleasure  in  refusing  to  be  com 
forted  for  the  loss  of  the  Doctor's  cheering  presence. 

"  Of  course  he  's  different;  there  can't  be  two 
Doctor  Rugvies  in  this  needy  world;  but  you  wait 
till  you  know  Ewart  better,  mother.  Talk  about 
'  what  next '  !  You  '11  find  as  soon  as  Ewart  sets 
things  humming  here  there  '11  be  plenty  of  the  '  next ' ; 
Cale  can  give  you  a  point  or  two  on  that  already.  By 


1 88  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

the  way,  he  seems  to  have  sworn  allegiance  to  Ewart ; 
he  does  n't  have  time  for  me  now." 

"  But  what  are  we  women  to  do  here?  "  I  exclaimed 
half  impatiently.  My  busy  working  life  in  the  city, 
with  the  consequent  pressure  that  made  itself  felt 
every  hour  of  the  day,  and  burdened  me  at  night  with 
the  dreadful  "  what  next  if  strength  and  health 
should  fail?  ",  had  unfitted  me  in  part  for  the  con 
tinued  quiet  of  domesticity.  I  found  myself  begin 
ning  to  chafe  under  it,  now  that  the  house  was  settled. 
I  wanted  more  work  to  fill  my  time. 

"  Better  ask  Ewart,"  said  Jamie  to  tease  me. 

"  I  will."  I  spoke  decidedly  and  gave  Jamie  a  sur 
prise.  "  I  '11  speak  to  him  the  very  first  time  I  get 
the  chance.  He  has  n't  given  me  one  yet." 

"  You  're  right  there,  Marcia.  I  noticed  you  and 
the  Doctor  were  great  chums  from  the  first,  but  Ewart 
has  n't  said  much  to  you  —  he  is  so  different,  though, 
as  mother  says.  It  takes  time  to  know  Ewart,  and 
sometimes  — 

"  What  '  sometimes  '  ?  " 

"  Sometimes  when  I  think  I  know  him,  I  find  I 
don't.  That  interests  me.  You  '11  have  the  same  ex 
perience  when  you  get  well  acquainted  with  him." 

"  There  is  no  monotony  about  that  at  any  rate." 

"  I  should  say  not."    He  spoke  emphatically. 

Mrs.  Macleod  turned  to  me. 

"  I  'm  sure  I  feel  just  as  you  do,  Marcia,  about  the 
*  what  next '.  I  don't  know  of  anything  except  to  keep 
house  and  provide  for  the  meals  — 

"  That 's  no  sinecure  in  this  climate,  mother.  Such 
appetites!  Even  Marcia  is  developing  a  bank  holi 
day  one." 

"  And  gaining  both  color  and  flesh,"  said  Mrs.  Mac- 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  189 

leod,  looking  me  over  approvingly.  I  dropped  her  a 
curtsey  which  surprised  her  Scotch  staidness  and 
amused  Jamie. 

"  Are  you  sure  you  are  twenty-six?  "  He  smiled 
quizzically. 

"  As  sure  as  you  are  of  your  three  and  twenty 
years." 

Jamie  turned  from  the  window,  took  a  book  and 
dipped  into  it.  I  thought  he  was  lost  to  us  for  the 
next  two  hours.  Mrs.  Macleod  left  the  room. 

"  Sometimes  I  feel  a  hundred."  Jamie  spoke 
thoughtfully. 

"  And  I  a  hundred  and  ten."  I  responded  quickly 
to  his  mood. 

"  You  're  bound  to  go  me  ten  better.  But  no  — 
have  you,  though?  " 

I  nodded  emphatically. 

"Where?" 

"  Oh,  in  New  York." 

"  Why  in  New  York?  " 

"  You  don't  know  it?  " 

"  No;   but  I  mean  to." 

"  I  wish  you  joy." 

"  Tell  me  why  in  New  York." 

"  You  would  n't  understand." 

"  Would  n't  I?    Try  me." 

I  looked  up  at  him  as  he  stood  there  thoughtful,  his 
forefinger  between  the  leaves  of  the  book.  He  had 
no  living  to  earn.  He  had  not  to  bear  the  burden 
and  heat  of  an  earned  existence.  How  could  he  un 
derstand?  So  I  questioned  in  my  narrowness  of  out 
look. 

"  I  felt  the  burden,"  I  answered. 

"  What  burden?  " 


igo  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

"The  burden  of  —  oh,  I  can't  tell  exactly;  the 
burden  of  just  that  terrible  weight  of  life  as  it  is  lived 
there.  Before  I  was  ill  it  weighed  on  me  so  I  felt  old, 
sometimes  centuries  old  — 

Jamie  leaned  forward  eagerly,  his  face  alive  with 
feeling. 

"  Marcia,  that 's  just  the  way  I  felt  when  I  was  in 
the  hospital.  I  was  bowed  down  in  spirit  with  it  — 

"  You?  "    I  asked  in  amazement. 

"  Yes,  I;  why  not?  I  can't  help  myself;  I  am  a 
child  of  my  time.  Only,  I  felt  the  burden  of  life  as 
humanity  lives  it,  not  touched  by  locality  as  you  felt 
it." 

"  But  you  have  n't  really  lived  that  life  yet,  Jamie." 

"  Yes,  I  have,  Marcia." 

"  How?  " 

"  I  wonder  now  if  you  will  understand?  I  get  it  — 
I  get  all  that  through  the  imagination." 

"  But  imagination  is  n't  reality." 

"  More  real  than  reality  itself  sometimes.  Look 
here,  I  'm  not  a  philanthropic  cad  and  I  don't  mean 
to  say  too  much,  but  I  can  say  this :  when  a  thinking 
man  before  he  is  twenty-five  has  run  up  hard  against 
the  only  solid  fact  in  this  world  —  death,  he  some 
how  gets  a  grip  on  life  and  its  meaning  that  others 
don't." 

I  waited  for  more.  This  was  the  Jamie  of  whom 
the  depth  of  simplicity  in  "  Andre's  Odyssey  "  had 
given  me  a  glimpse. 

He  straightened  himself  suddenly.     "  I  want   to 
say  right  here  and  now  that  if  I  have  felt,  and  feel  - 
as  I  can't  help  feeling,  being  the  child  of  my  time  and 
subject  to  its  tendencies  —  the  burden  of  this  life  of 
ours  as  lived  by  all  humankind,  thank  God,  I  can 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  191 

even  when  bowed  in  spirit,  feel  at  times  the  '  rhythm 
of  the  universe  '  that  adjusts,  coordinates  all  — " 
He  broke  off  abruptly,  laughing  at  himself.  "  I  'm 
getting  beyond  my  depth,  Marcia?  " 

I  shook  my  head.  He  smiled.  "  Well,  then,  I  '11 
get  down  to  bed  rock  and  say  something  more:  you 
won't  mind  my  mooning  about  and  going  off  by  myself 
and  acting,  sometimes,  as  if  I  had  patented  an  aero 
plane  and  could  sustain  myself  for  a  few  hours  above 
the  heads  of  all  humanity  - 

I  laughed  outright.     "  What  do  you  mean,  Jamie?  " 

"  I  mean  that  as  I  can't  dig  a  trench,  or  cut  wood, 
or  run  a  motor  bus,  or  be  a  member  of  a  life-saving 
crew  like  other  men,  I  'm  going  to  try  to  help  a  man 
up,  and  earn  my  living  if  I  can,  by  writing  out  what 
I  get  in  part  through  experience  and  mostly  through 
imagination.  There!  Now  I  Ve  told  you  all  there  is 
to  tell,  except  that  I  Ve  had  something  actually  ac 
cepted  by  a  London  publisher;  and  if  you  '11  put  up 
with  my  crotchets  I  '11  give  you  a  presentation  copy." 

"  Oh,  Jamie!  " 

I  was  so  glad  for  him  that  for  the  moment  I  found 
nothing  more  to  say. 

"  '  Oh,  Jamie,'  "  he  mimicked;  then  with  a  burst 
of  laughter  he  threw  himself  full  length  on  the 
sofa. 

"  What  are  you  laughing  at?  "  I  demanded  sternly. 

"  At  what  Ewart  and  the  Doctor  would  say  if  they 
could  hear  us  talking  like  this  so  soon  as  their  backs 
were  turned  on  the  manor.  I  believe  the  Doctor's 
last  word  to  you  was  '  griddlecakes  ',  and  E wart's 
to  me :  '  We  '11  have  dinner  at  twelve  —  I  'm  going 
into  the  woods  with  Cale  '.  Well,  I  'm  in  for  good  two 
hours  of  reading,"  he  said,  settling  himself  comfort- 


192  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

ably  in  the  sofa  corner.    I  had  come  to  learn  that  this 
was  my  dismissal. 

Before  Mr.  Ewart's  return,  I  took  counsel  with 
myself  —  or  rather  with  my  common-sense  self.  If 
I  were  to  continue  to  work  in  this  household,  I  must 
know  definitely  what  I  was  to  do.  The  fact  that  I 
was  receiving  wages  meant,  if  it  meant  anything,  that 
I  received  them  in  exchange  for  service  rendered. 
The  Doctor  left  the  matter  in  an  unsatisfactory,  nebu 
lous  state,  saying,  that  if  Ewart  insisted  on  paying 
my  salary  it  was  his  affair  to  provide  the  work;  and 
thereafter  he  was  provokingly  silent. 

I  had  been  too  many  years  in  a  work-harness  to 
shirk  any  responsibility  along  business  lines  now,  and 
when,  after  supper,  I  heard  Jamie  say  just  before  we 
left  the  dining-room:  "I'm  no  end  busy  this  eve 
ning,  Gordon,  I  '11  work  in  here  if  you  don't  mind; 
I  '11  be  in  for  porridge,"  I  knew  my  opportunity  was 
already  made  for  me.  I  told  Mrs.  Macleod  that,  as 
she  could  not  tell  me  what  was  expected  of  me,  I 
should  not  let  another  day  go  by  without  ascertaining 
this  from  Mr.  Ewart.  Perhaps  she  intentionally 
made  the  opening  for  my  opportunity  easier,  for  when 
I  went  into  the  living-room  an  hour  later,  I  found  Mr. 
Ewart  alone  with  the  dogs.  He  was  at  the  library 
table,  drawing  something  with  scale  and  square. 

"  Pardon  me  for  not  rising,"  he  said  without  looking 
up;  "I  don't  want  to  spoil  this  acute  angle;  I  'm 
mapping  out  the  old  forest.  I  'in  glad  you  're  at  lib 
erty  for  I  need  some  help." 

"  At  liberty!  "  I  echoed;  and,  perceiving  the  humor 
of  the  situation,  I  could  not  help  smiling.  "  That 's 
just  what  I  have  come  to  you  to  complain  of  —  I  have 
too  much  liberty." 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  193 

"  You  want  work?  " 

It  was  a  bald  statement  of  an  axiomatic  truth,  and 
it  was  made  while  he  was  still  intent  upon  finishing 
the  angle.  I  stood  near  the  table  watching  him. 

"  Yes."  I  thought  the  circumstances  warranted 
conciseness,  and  my  being  laconic,  if  necessary. 

"  Then  we  can  come  to  an  understanding  without 
further  preliminaries."  He  spoke  almost  indiffer 
ently;  he  was  still  intent  on  his  work.  "  Be  seated," 
he  said  pleasantly,  looking  up  at  me  for  the  first  time 
and  directly  into  my  face. 

I  did  as  I  was  bidden,  and  waited.  I  am  told  I  have 
a  talent  for  waiting  on  another's  unexpressed  inten 
tions  without  fidgetting,  as  so  many  women  do,  with 
any  trifle  at  hand.  I  occupied  myself  with  looking 
at  the  man  whom  Jamie  loved,  who  "  interested  " 
him.  I,  too,  found  the  personality  and  face  interest 
ing.  By  no  means  of  uncommon  type,  nevertheless, 
the  whole  face  was  noticeable  for  the  remarkable 
moulding  of  every  feature.  There  were  lines  in  it 
and,  without  aging,  every  one  told.  They  added  char 
acter,  gave  varied  expression,  intensified  traits. 
Life's  chisel  of  experience  had  graven  both  deep  and 
fine ;  not  a  coarse  line  marred  the  extraordinary  firm 
ness  that  expressed  itself  in  lips  and  jaw;  not  a  touch 
of  unfineness  revealed  itself  about  the  nose.  Delicate 
creases  beneath  the  eyes,  and  many  of  them,  mellowed 
the  almost  hard  look  of  the  direct  glance.  Thought 
had  moulded;  will  had  graven;  suffering  had  both 
hardened  and  softened  —  "  tempered  "  is  the  right 
word  —  as  is  its  tendency  when  manhood  endures  it 
rightly.  But  joy  had  touched  the  contours  all  too 
lightly;  the  face  in  repose  showed  absolutely  no 
trace  of  it.  When  he  smiled,  however,  as  he  did,, 


194  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

looking  up  suddenly  to  find  me  studying  him,  I  real 
ized  that  here  was  great  capacity  for  enjoying,  al 
though  joyousness  had  never  found  itself  at  home 
about  eyes  and  lips.  He  laid  aside  the  drawing  and 
turned  his  chair  to  face  me. 

"  Doctor  Rugvie  —  and  Cale,"  he  added  pointedly, 
"  tell  me  you  were  for  several  years  in  a  branch  of  the 
New  York  Library.  Did  you  ever  do  any  work  in 
cataloguing?  " 

"  No;  I  was  studying  for  the  examinations  that  last 
spring  before  I  was  taken  ill." 

"  Then  I  am  sure  you  will  understand  just  how  to 
do  the  work  I  have  laid  out  for  you.  I  have  a  few 
cases  still  in  storage  in  Montreal  —  mostly  on  for 
estry.  Before  sending  for  them,  I  wanted  to  see 
where  I  could  put  them." 

"  Cut  and  dried  already!  I  needn't  have  given 
myself  extra  worry  about  my  future  work,"  I 
thought;  but  aloud  I  said: 

"  I  '11  do  my  best;  if  the  books  are  German  I 
can't  catalogue  them.  I  have  n't  got  so  far." 

"I'll  take  care  of  those;  there  are  very  few  of 
them.  Most  of  them  are  in  French;  in  fact,  it  is  a 
mild  fad  of  mine  to  collect  French  works,  ancient  and 
modern,  on  forestry.  I  '11  send  for  the  books  after 
the  office  has  been  furnished  and  put  to  rights.  I  am 
expecting  the  furniture  from  Quebec  to-morrow.  And 
now  that  I  have  laid  out  your  work  for  you  for  the 
present,  I  '11  ask  a  favor  —  a  personal  one,"  he  added, 
smiling  as  he  rose,  thrust  his  hands  deep  into  his 
pockets  and  jingled  some  keys  somewhere  in  the 
depths. 

"  What  is  it?  "  I,  too,  rose,  ready  to  do  the  favor 
on  the  instant  if  possible,  for  his  wholly  businesslike 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  195 

manner,  the  directness  with  which  he  relied  upon  my 
training  to  help  him  pleased  me. 

"  I  'd  like  to  leave  the  settling  of  my  den  in  your 
hands  —  wholly,"  he  said  emphatically.  "  You  have 
been  so  successful  with  the  other  rooms  that  I  'd  like 
to  see  your  hand  in  my  special  one.  How  did  you 
know  just  what  to  do,  and  not  overdo,  —  so  many 
women  are  guilty  of  that,  —  tell  me?  " 

He  spoke  eagerly,  almost  boyishly.  It  was  pleasant 
to  be  able  to  tell  him  the  plain  truth;  no  frills  were 
needed  with  this  man,  if  I  read  him  rightly. 

"  Because  it  was  my  first  chance  to  work  out  some 
of  my  home  ideals  —  my  first  opportunity  to  make  a 
home,  as  I  had  imagined  it;  then,  too,  — 

I  hesitated,  wondering  if  I  should  tell  not  only 
the  plain  truth,  but  the  unvarnished  one.  I  decided 
to  speak  out  frankly;  it  could  do  no  harm. 

"  I  enjoyed  it  all  so  much  because  I  could  spend 
some  money — judiciously,  you  know,"-  — I  spoke 
earnestly.  He  nodded  understandingly,  but  I  saw 
that  he  suppressed  a  smile,  —  "  without  having  to 
earn  it  by  hard  work;  I  've  had  to  scrimp  so  long  —  " 

His  face  grew  grave  again. 

"  How  much  did  you  spend  ?  I  think  I  have  a  slight 
remembrance  of  some  infinitesimal  sum  you  men 
tioned  the  first  evening  • — 

"Infinitesimal!  No,  indeed;  it  was  almost  a  hun 
dred  —  eighty-seven  dollars  and  sixty-three  cents,  to 
be  exact." 

"  Now,  Miss  Farrell!  "  It  was  his  turn  to  protest. 
He  went  over  to  the  hearth  and  took  his  stand  on  it, 
his  back  to  the  fire,  his  hands  clasped  behind  him. 
"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  you  provided  all  this 
comfort  and  made  this  homey  atmosphere  with 


196  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

eighty-seven  dollars  and  sixty-three  cents?  —  I  'm 
particular  about  those  sixty- three  cents." 

"  I  did,  and  had  more  good  fun  and  enjoyment  in 
spending  them  to  that  end,  than  I  ever  remember  to 
have  had  before  in  my  life.  You  don't  think  it  too 
much?  " 

I  looked  up  at  him  and  smiled;  and  smiled  again 
right  merrily  at  the  perplexed  look  in  his  eyes,  a  look 
that  suddenly  changed  to  one  of  such  deep,  emotional 
suffering  that  my  eyes  fell  before  it.  I  felt  intui 
tively  I  ought  not  to  see  it. 

"  Too  much!  "  he  repeated,  and  as  I  looked  up 
again  quickly  I  found  the  face  and  expression  serene 
and  unmoved.  "  Well,  as  you  must  have  learned 
already,  things  are  relative  when  it  comes  to  value, 
and  what  you  have  done  for  this  house  belongs  in  the 
category  of  things  that  mere  money  can  neither  pur 
chase  nor  pay  for." 

"  I  don't  quite  see  that;  I  thought  it  was  I  who 
was  having  all  the  pleasure." 

His  next  question  startled  me. 

"  You  are  an  orphan,  I  understand,  Miss  Farrell?  " 

"  Yes."  Again  I  felt  the  blood  mount  to  my  cheeks 
as  I  restated  this  half  truth. 

"  Then  you  must  know  what  it  is  to  be  alone  in 
the  world?  " 

"  Yes  —  all  alone." 

"  Perhaps  to  have  no  home  of  your  own?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  To  feel  yourself  a  stranger  even  in  familiar 
places?  " 

"  Oh,  yes  —  many  times." 

"  Surely,  then,  you  will  understand  what  it  means 
for  a  lonely  man  to  come  back  to  this  old  manor, 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  197 

which  I  have  occupied  for  years  only  at  intervals,  and 
more  as  a  camping  than  an  abiding  place,  and  find  it 
for  the  first  time  a  home  in  fact?  " 

"  I  think  I  can  understand  it." 

"  Very  well,  then,"  he  said  emphatically  and  holding 
out  his  hand  into  which  I  laid  mine,  wondering  as  I 
did  so  "  what  next  "  was  to  be  expected  from  this 
man,  "  I  am  your  debtor  for  this  and  must  remain 
so;  and  in  the  circumstances,"  he  continued  with  an 
emphasis  at  once  so  frank  and  merry,  that  it  left  no 
doubt  of  his  sincerity  as  well  as  of  his  appreciation 
of  the  situation,  "  I  think  there  need  be  no  more  talk 
of  work,  or  wages,  or  reciprocal  service  between  you 
and  me  as  long  as  you  remain  with  us.  It 's  a  pact, 
is  n't  it?  "  he  said,  releasing  my  hand  from  the  firm 
cordial  pressure. 

"  But  I  want  my  wages,"  I  protested  with  mock 
anxiety.    "  I  really  can't  get  on  without  money  - 
and  I  was  to  have  twenty-five  dollars  a  month  and 
*  board  and  room  '  according  to  agreement." 

He  laughed  at  that.    I  was  glad  to  hear  him. 

"  Oh,  I  have  no  responsibility  for  the  agreement  or 
what  the  advertisement  has  brought  forth;  it  was  one 
of  the  great  surprises  of  my  life  to  find  you  here.  By 
the  way,  I  hear  you  prefer  to  receive  your  pay  from 
the  Doctor?  " 

"  Did  he  tell  you  that?  "  I  demanded,  not  over 
courteously. 

"  Professionally,"  he  replied  with  assumed  gravity. 
"  I  insisted  on  taking  that  pecuniary  burden  on  my 
self,  as  I  seemed  to  be  the  first  beneficiary;  but  I  've 
changed  my  mind,  and,  hereafter,  you  may  apply 
to  the  Doctor  for  your  salary.  I  '11  take  your  service 
gratis  and  tell  him  so.  Does  this  suit  you?  " 


198  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

"  So  completely,  wholly  and  absolutely  that  — 
well,  you  '11  see !  When  can  I  take  possession  of  the 
office?  It  needs  a  good  cleaning  down  the  first  tiling." 
I  was  eager  to  begin  to  prove  my  gratitude  for  the 
manner  in  which  he  had  extricated  me  from  the  anom 
alous  position  in  his  household. 

"  From  this  moment;  only  —  no  manual  labor  like 
'  cleaning  down  '  ;  there  are  enough  in  the  house  for 
that." 

"  Oh,  nonsense!  "  I  replied,  laughing  at  such  a  re 
striction.  "  I  'm  used  to  it  - 

"  I  intend  you  to  be  unused  to  it  in  my  house  — 
you  understand?  " 

There  was  decided  command  in  these  words;  they 
irritated  me  as  well  as  the  look  he  gave  me.  But  I 
remembered  in  time  that,  after  all,  the  old  manor 
of  Lamoral  was  his  house,  not  mine,  and  it  would 
be  best  for  me  to  obey  orders. 

"  Very  well;  I  '11  ask  Marie  and  little  Pete  to  help 
me." 

Marie  appeared  with  the  porridge,  a  little  earlier 
than  usual  on  Jamie's  account,  and  Mr.  Ewart  asked 
her  to  bring  a  lighted  candle. 

"  Come  into  the  office  for  a  moment,"  he  said, 
leading  the  way  with  the  light. 

He  stopped  at  the  threshold  to  let  me  pass.  The 
room  was  warm;  the  soapstone  heater  was  doing 
effective  \vcrk.  The  snow  gleamed  white  beneath  the 
curtainless  windows,  and  the  crowding  hemlocks 
showed  black  pointed  masses  against  the  moonlight. 
There  was  some  frost  on  the  panes. 

"  It  looks  bare  enough  now,"  he  said,  raising  the 
candle  at  the  full  stretch  of  his  arm  that  I  might  see 
the  oak  panels  of  the  ceiling;  "  I  leave  it  to  you  to 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  199 

make  it  cheery.  Here  's  something  that  will  help  out 
in  this  room  and  in  the  living-room." 

He  took  a  large  pasteboard  box  from  the  floor,  and 
we  went  back  into  the  other  room.  Jamie  and  Mrs. 
Macleod  were  there. 

"  Now,  what  have  you  there,  Gordon?  "  said  the 
former,  frankly  showing  the  curiosity  that  is  a  part 
of  his  make-up. 

"  Something  that  should  delight  your  inner  man's 
eye,"  he  replied.  Going  to  the  table,  he  opened  the 
box  and  took  from  it  some  of  the  exquisite  first  and 
second  proofs  of  those  wonderful  etchings  by  Meryon. 

We  looked  and  looked  again.  Old  Paris,  the  Paris 
of  the  second  republic,  lay  spread  before  us :  bridges, 
quays,  chimney-pots,  roofs,  river  and  the  cathedral 
of  Notre  Dame  were  there  in  black  and  white,  and 
the  Seine  breathing  dankness  upon  all!  I  possessed 
myself  of  one,  the  Pont  Neuf,  and  betook  myself  to 
the  sofa  to  enjoy  it. 

"  You  know  these,  Miss  Farrell?  " 

"  Only  as  I  have  seen  woodcuts  of  them  in  New 
York." 

"  They  are  my  favorites;  I  want  nothing  else  on 
my  walls.  Will  you  select  some  for  this  room  and 
some  for  the  den?  I  will  passepartout  them;  they 
should  have  no  frames." 

"  You  're  just  giving  me  the  best  treat  you  could 
possibly  provide,"  I  said,  still  in  possession  of  the 
proof,  "  and  how  glad  I  am  that  I  Ve  had  it  - 

"  What,  Marcia?  "    This  from  Jamie. 

"  I  mean  the  chance  to  extract  a  little  honey  from 
the  strong." 

Mrs.  Macleod  and  Jamie  looked  thoroughly  mysti 
fied,  not  knowing  New  York;  but  Mr.  Ewart  smiled 


2oo  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

at  my  enthusiasm  and  scripture  application.  He  un 
derstood  that  some  things  during  the  years  of  my 
"  scrimping  "  had  borne  fruit. 

"  I  believe  you  're  more  than  half  French,  Ewart," 
said  Jamie,  looking  up  from  the  proof  he  was  examin 
ing;  "  I  mean  in  feeling  and  sympathy." 

"  No,  I  am  all  Canadian." 

"  You  mean  English,  don't  you?  " 

"  No,  I  mean  Canadian." 

This  was  said  with  a  fervor  and  a  decision  which  had 
such  a  snap  to  it,  that  Jamie  looked  at  him  in  surprise. 
Without  replying,  he  continued  his  examination  of 
the  proof,  whistling  softly  to  himself. 

Mr.  Ewart  turned  to  Mrs.  Macleod  and  said,  smi 
ling: 

"  I  want  all  members  of  my  household  to  know 
just  where  I  stand ;  in  the  future  we  may  have  a  good 
many  English  guests  in  the  house.  —  Please,  give  me 
an  extra  amount  of  porridge,  Mrs.  Macleod." 


XV 

WITH  the  coming  of  the  furniture  and  the  fur 
nishing  of  the  office,  my  hands  were  full  for 
the  next  week.  During  the  time,  Mr.  Ewart 
was  in  Ottawa  on  business,  and  I  worked  like  a  Trojan 
to  have  everything  in  readiness  on  his  return.  I  was 
determined  he  should  be  the  first  to  see  the  transfor 
mation  of  his  special  room,  and  forbade  Jamie  to  open 
the  door  so  much  as  a  crack  that  might  afford  him  a 
peep. 

"  It  does  n't  seem  much  like  the  manor  with  Ewart 
away  and  you  invisible  except  at  meals,"  he  growled 
from  the  arm-chair  he  had  placed  just  outside  the  sill 
of  the  office  door.  He  begged  me  to  leave  the  door 
open  just  a  little  way,  enough  to  enable  him  to  have 
speech  with  me  —  a  privilege  I  granted,  but  reluc 
tantly,  for  I  was  putting  the  books  on  the  shelves  and 
giving  the  task  my  whole  attention.  The  last  day  of 
the  week  was  with  us,  and  Mr.  Ewart  was  expected 
in  a  few  hours.  I  stopped  long  enough,  however,  to 
peep  at  him  through  the  inch-wide  opening.  He  was 
drawing  away  at  a  cold  pipe  and  looked  wholly  dis 
consolate. 

"  A  new  version  of  Omar  Khayyam,"  I  said. 

'  A  pipe,  you  know  .  .  .  and  Thou 
Beside  me,  chatting  in  the  wilderness.'  " 


202  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

"  I  suppose  you  '11  let  me  in  when  Ewart  comes." 

"  I  Ve  nothing  to  say  about  that;  it  is  n't  my 
den." 

"  I  was  under  the  impression  it  was  wholly  yours, 
judging  from  your  possession  of  it." 

"  Now,  no  sarcasm,  Jamie  Macleod;  work  is  work, 
and  there  's  been  a  lot  to  do  in  here  —  not  but  what 
I  've  taken  solid  comfort  in  putting  this  room  into 
shape." 

"  Oh,  yes,  we  have  seen  that;  even  Cale  remarked 
to  me  the  other  night  that  he  '  guessed  '  Mr.  Ewart 
knew  a  good  thing  when  he  saw  it,  as  he  had  a  general 
furnisher  and  library  assistant  all  in  one,  who  was 
working  for  his  interest  about  as  hard  as  she  could." 

"  Good  for  Cale,  he  is  a  discerning  person.  But  he 
seems  to  be  following  suit  pretty  closely  along  his 
lines." 

"  I  hear  you  're  to  catalogue  the  books  that  are  in 
the  den." 

"  That  is  my  order." 

"  Don't  you  want  me  to  help  you?  Old  French 
is  n't  so  easy  sometimes,"  he  asked,  coaxing. 

"  Oh,  no;  I  've  help  enough  in  Mr.  Ewart.  He 
knows  it  a  good  deal  better  than  you  do." 

"  '  Sass  ',"  was  Jamie's  sole  reply,  a  word  he  had 
borrowed  from  Gale's  vocabulary;  he  used  it  to  char 
acterize  my  attitude  towards  his  acquirements. 

I  worked  on  in  silence  till  the  books  were  housed; 
then  I  drew  a  long  breath  of  satisfaction. 

"  What 's  that  sigh  for?  "  was  the  demand  from 
the  other  side  of  the  door. 

"  For  a  noble  deed  accomplished,  my  friend." 

"Humph!" 

"  Now  move  away  your  chair,  I  'm  coming  out." 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  203 

"  Come  on." 

There  was  no  movement  of  the  chair,  and,  to  pun 
ish  him,  I  locked  the  door  on  the  inside  and  went  out 
through  the  kitchen  up  to  my  room. 

I  recall  that  afternoon:  the  heavy  first-of -Decem 
ber  skies;  the  gray-black  look  on  the  hemlocks;  the 
faded  trunks  of  the  lindens;  the  dullness  of  the  unre 
flecting  snow;  the  intermittent  soughing  of  the  wind 
in  the  pines.  All  without  looked  drear,  jaded,  almost 
lifeless;  the  cold  was  penetrating.  I  determined  that 
all  within  should  be  bright  with  home  cheer  on  the 
master's  return.  Did  he  not  say  I  had  made  a  home 
of  the  old  manor? 

I  recall  dressing  myself  with  unusual  care  and  wish 
ing  I  had  some  light-colored  gown  to  help  brighten 
the  interior  for  him. 

For  him!  I  was  looking  in  the  mirror  and  coiling 
my  hair  when  I  realized  my  thought;  to  my  amaze 
ment  my  own  face  seemed  to  me  almost  the  face  of  a 
stranger.  I  saw  that  its  thin  oval  had  rounded,  the 
cheeks  gained  a  faint  color;  animation  was  in  every 
feature,  life  anticipant  in  the  eyes. 

"  That 's  what  the  change  has  done  so  soon;  pure 
air,  home  life,  good  food  and  an  abundance  of  it." 

I  failed  to  read  the  first  sign. 

There  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  put  on  the  well- 
worn  skirt  of  brown  panama  serge,  a  clean  shirt  waist 
and  a  white  four-in-hand.  I  promised  myself  not  only 
a  warm  coat  out  of  the  first  month's  wages,  but  a 
light-colored  inexpensive  dress  that  would  harmonize 
with  the  general  feeling  of  youthfulness  of  which  my 
inner  woman  was  now  aware.  I  sat  down  at  the  win 
dow  to  wait  for  the  sound  of  the  pung  bells.  Soon 
there  was  a  soft  tap  at  my  door. 


204  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

"  Come  in."  Jamie  made  his  appearance  with  a 
bunch  of  partridge  berries  in  his  hand. 

"  With  Gale's  compliments;  he  found  them  under 
the  snow  in  the  woods,  and  hopes  you  will  do  him  the 
honor  to  wear  them  in  your  hair.  He  left  them  with 
me  just  before  he  went  to  meet  Ewart;  I  had  them 
under  the  arm-chair  to  present  to  you  formally  when 
you  should  come  out  of  the  den;  instead  of  which,  you 
ignominiously  - 

"  Please,  don't,  Jamie  — •  no  coals  of  fire;  give  me 
the  lovely  things." 

"  But,  remember,  you  are  to  wear  them  in  your 
hair,  so  Cale  says." 

"  It 's  perfectly  absurd  —  but  I  must  do  it  to  please 
him.  Who  would  credit  him  with  such  an  attention?  " 

"  May  I  stay  while  you  put  them  in?  "  he  asked 
meekly. 

"  Of  course  you  may,  you  sisterless  youth." 

I  parted  the  bunch,  and  pinned  a  spray  on  each  side, 
in  the  coils  and  plaits  of  my  over  heavy  hair.  Jamie 
said  nothing  till  this  finishing  touch  had  been  put  to 
my  toilet. 

"  I  say,  it's  ripping,  •  Marcia.  Cale  will  be  your 
abject  slave  from  henceforth.  By  the  way,  I  Ve  never 
heard  him  call  you  '  Happy  ',  as  he  proposed  to  do." 

"  Nor  I." 

"  I  wonder  what 's  the  reason?  Perhaps  he  thought 
he  had  been  too  fresh,  and  he  does  n't  dare  —  There  's 
Ewart!  "  He  was  off  on  a  run. 

I  thought  I  would  wait  for  the  various  greetings 
to  be  over  before  going  down.  I  felt  sure  I  should  not 
see  his  hand  withdrawn  this  time,  as  on  the  occasion 
of  his  first  home-coming.  When  I  heard  his  voice 
below  in  the  hall,  I  was  aware  of  a  warm  thrill  of  de- 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  205 

light,  a  joyous  expectancy  of  good,  a  feeling  as  if  the 
home-coming  were  my  own;  for  never  in  my  life  had 
I  been  welcomed  as  he  was,  with  a  shout  from  Jamie, 
an  outburst  from  the  dogs,  and  joyful  ejaculations 
from  Angelique  and  Marie. 

I  went  down,  my  cheeks  glowing,  my  heart  warm 
with  the  home-sense,  and  —  I  wondered  at  myself  - 
my  hand  outstretched  to  his.  When  his  closed  upon 
it  with  the  same  cordial  pressure  of  the  week  be 
fore,  I  knew  for  the  first  time  in  my  life  the  joy  of 
being  "  at  home  ". 

And  I  failed  to  read  the  second  sign. 


XVI 

IT  was  a  busy  winter  and  a  joyous  one  for  me;  a 
short  and  happy  one  for  Jamie,  so  he  said.    He 
was  correcting  proof  for  the  first  venture  and  col 
lecting  data  for  the  second;    trying  his  hand  at  a 
chapter  here  and  there;    alternately  despairing,  re 
joicing,  appealing  to  Mr.  Ewart  or  me  for  criticism 
-  something  we  were  unable  to  give  him,  as  from  dis 
jointed  portions  of  his  work  we  did  not  know  the  trend 
of  his  ideas;   protesting  one  day  that  he  could  write 
nothing  worth  reading,  then  on  the  next  proclaiming 
to  the  household,  including  Cale,  his  temporary  tri 
umph  of  mind  over  material.    We  enjoyed  his  moods, 
all  of  them,  whether  of  despair  or  enthusiasm,  guying 
him  in  the  one  and  encouraging  him  in  the  other. 

The  cataloguing  took  me  well  into  the  first  week  in 
January.  Mr.  Ewart  was  often  in  the  den  with  me  of 
an  afternoon,  and  I  was  glad  to  take  advantage  of 
his  knowledge  of  the  language  in  translation,  and  the 
use  of  obsolete  words.  His  own  time  seemed  over  full 
for  those  first  few  months.  On  Tuesday  and  Saturday 
mornings,  he  was  always  in  the  office  to  see  the  farm 
ers  on  the  estate  and  talk  with  them  about  his  plans 
for  future  development.  On  other  week-days,  when 
weather  permitted,  he  and  Cale  were  much  in  the 
woods. 

I  found  that  Mr.  Ewart  did  not  intend  it  should  be 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  207 

all  work  and  no  play  for  me.  Twice  in  December  he 
drove  me  in  the  pung  —  no  sleigh  had  as  yet  been 
purchased,  although  a  piano  filled  a  corner  of  the 
living-room;  once,  early  in  the  morning,  before  the 
sun  had  a  chance  to  warm  and  partly  melt  the  ice- 
crystals  that  encased  every  branch,  every  twig  and 
twiglet.  On  that  morning,  we  drove  without  speech 
for  miles  behind  the  swiftly  trotting  French  coach 
horses;  the  beauty  about  us  was  indescribable,  and 
silence  was  the  best  appreciation.  We  sped  through 
the  woods'-road,  a  prismatic  arcade  of  interlaced  crys 
tals;  along  the  river  bank  beside  the  vast  frozen 
expanse  of  the  St.  Lawrence,  gleaming  and  glittering 
with  blinding  reflected  radiance.  It  was  so  brilliant, 
that  against  it  the  trees  by  the  roadside,  laden  as  they 
were  with  ice,  stood  out  black  and  gaunt.  Then  into 
Richelieu-en-Bas,  where  every  roof,  every  fence,  every 
post  and  rivet,  looked  to  be  pure  rock  crystal.  Window- 
frames,  eaves,  doors,  the  old  pump  in  the  market 
place  were  behung  with  icicles.  The  world  about  us 
that  morning  was  another  world  than  the  work-a-day 
one  to  which  I  was  accustomed.  I  had  seen  this 
special  condition  of  ice  in  northern  New  England,  but 
never  in  such  beauty  and  grandeur. 

We  drove  home  before  the  ice  began  to  soften. 
Afterwards,  I  sat  for  an  hour  at  my  open  window,  lis 
tening  to  the  musical  tinkle  and  metallic  clink  of  the 
falling  ice  from  the  trees  in  the  woods  across  the 
creek. 

With  the  reason  given  that  Jamie  and  I  needed 
exercise  in  the  open  every  day,  —  our  occupations 
being  of  the  sedentary  kind,  as  he  said,  —  Mr.  Ewart 
bade  us  fare  forth  with  him  to  learn  the  art  of  snow- 
shoeing.  He  was  past  master  in  it  and  a  good  teacher. 


208  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

By  the  middle  of  January  we  were  well  on  our  feet 
and  independent  of  any  help  from  him. 

Oh,  the  joy  of  the  fleet  tracks  over  the  unbroken 
white!  Oh,  the  coursing  of  the  blood,  the  deep,  deep 
breaths  of  what  Mr.  Ewart  called  the  "  iced  wine  " 
air!  Oh,  the  blessed  hunger  that  was  satisfied  with 
wholesome  food  after  the  invigorating  exercise!  Oh, 
the  refreshing  sleep,  with  the  temperature  at  zero  and 
the  still  air  touching  my  cheeks  under  the  fur  robe 
across  my  bed !  And  with  it  all  the  sense  of  security, 
the  sense  of  peace,  of  rest! 

In  this  atmosphere,  the  remembrance  of  the  weary 
years  in  the  great  city  grew  dim.  I  rejoiced  at  it. 

I  was  beginning,  also,  to  make  myself  easily  under 
stood  with  the  French.  Their  language  I  loved; 
their  literature  I  cultivated.  It  was  a  delight  to  be 
able  to  visit  the  tiny  homes  in  the  village,  whither  I 
was  sent  on  one  errand  or  another  by  Mr.  Ewart,  so 
getting  extra  rides  in  the  pung  and  longer  hours  in  the 
bracing  air.  It  was  an  education  to  make  the  ac 
quaintance  of  various  families,  learn  the  names  of 
every  member  of  the  households,  their  interests  and 
occupations.  They  were  such  tiny  homes,  made  so 
high  of  stoop  to  avoid  the  rising  spring  flood  that  the 
great  river  is  apt  to  send  far  and  wide  and  deep  into 
the  village  streets,  covering  the  noble  park  and  flood 
ing  first  floors,  respecting  neither  twin-towered  church 
nor  manor  house;  so  low  in  the  walls,  few-windowed, 
and  those  double  and  packed  with  moss. 

And  such  expansive  souls  as  I  found  in  the  tiny 
homes:  the  hostess  of  the  inn,  Mrs.  Macleod's  dress 
maker  who  lived  beneath  the  shadow  of  the  great 
twin- towered  church;  the  furrier  and  his  wife  on  the 
market-square;  from  them  I  bought  my  warm  coat; 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  209 

ancient  Mere  Guillardeau  and  her  old  daughter, 
weaver  of  rag  carpets,  and  some  of  her  friends  who 
followed  the  same  calling  and  showed  me,  during  the 
short  winter  days,  how  to  weave  them  on  their  rough 
looms. 

Of  the  three  or  four  English  families,  with  the  excep 
tion  of  the  postmistress,  I  knew  nothing,  or  knew  of 
them  only  through  Mr.  Ewart  and  Jamie.  The 
"  Seignior  "  and  "  Seignioress  ",  so-called  although 
English,  were  in  Montreal  for  the  winter.  The  old 
General  and  his  wife  were  housed  through  infirmities. 
Now  and  then  I  saw  a  bevy  of  red-cheeked  English 
girls,  driving  over  from  their  home-school  in  Upper 
Richelieu  for  a  jolly  lark  on  their  half-holiday.  Of 
other  English  I  heard  nothing;  there  were  none  in 
Richelieu-en-Bas. 

As  the  season  advanced  and  I  was  firm  on  my  winter 
feet,  I  made  many  a  snow-shoe  call  on  the  farmers' 
families  who  lived  on  the  old  seigniory  lands.  It  was 
good  to  hear  them  tell  their  hopes  and  anticipations; 
for  Mr.  Ewart's  plan  to  do  away  with  the  old  seig 
niorial  rents  and  leases,  and  make  of  each  farmer,  at 
present  paying  rent,  a  freeholder,  was  welcomed,  with 
almost  passionate  enthusiasm,  in  this  community, 
where,  generally,  change  is  looked  at  askance.  It  was 
not  long  before  I  discovered  that,  on  entering  these 
homes,  I  found  myself  anticipating  some  word  of 
praise,  some  expression  of  loyalty  and  devotion  to  the 
man  who  was  to  give  them  a  new  outlook  on  life.  I 
listened  with  willing  ears  and  led  them,  many  times 
of  my  own  accord,  to  speak  of  him. 

In  the  long  winter  evenings  I  read  thoroughly  into 
the  history  of  French  Canada.  It  took  me  far  afield, 
into  English  as  well;  into  biography  and  the  work  of 


210  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

pioneers.  It  showed  me  the  flaming  enthusiasm  of 
the  fanatic,  the  faith  of  the  apostle,  the  courage  of 
high  adventure,  the  chivalry  of  noble  lives,  the  loyalty 
and  devotion  of  the  humble.  It  showed  me,  also,  the 
cruelty  of  man  to  man,  the  divergence  of  race,  the 
warring  of  nations,  the  battlefields,  the  conquests,  the 
heavy  hand  of  the  conqueror,  the  red  man's  friend 
ship,  the  red  man's  enmity,  fire,  sword,  torture.  But 
in  and  through  and  above  all,  it  opened  to  me  the  high 
heart  of  the  Canadian,  the  undaunted  faith  in  estab 
lished  principles,  and  the  patriotism  that  is  a  veritable 
passion. 

"  O  Canada,  my  Canada!  "  an  old  French  Canadian 
once  exclaimed  to  me  as  we  sat  by  the  box-stove  in 
his  little  "  cabin  ".  "  There  is  no  land  like  it;  no  land 
where  they  live  at  peace  as  we  do  here;  no  land 
where  they  are  so  content  by  their  own  fireside." 
And  he  spoke  the  truth. 

I  began  to  understand,  through  my  intercourse 
with  our  neighbors  on  the  estate  and  the  village  people, 
those  words  of  Drummond  —  Drummond  who  has 
shown  us  the  hearts  of  Canada's  children: 

"  Our  fathers  came  to  win  us 
This  land  beyond  recall  — 
And  the  same  blood  flows  within  us 
Of  Briton,  Celt  and  Gaul  — 
Keep  alive  each  glowing  ember 
Of  our  sireland,  but  remember 
Our  country  is  Canadian 
Whatever  may  befall. 

"  Then  line  up  and  try  us, 
Whoever  would  deny  us 
The  freedom  of  our  birthright, 
And  they  '11  find  us  like  a  wall  — 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  211 

For  we  are  Canadian,  Canadian  forever, 
Canadian  forever  —  Canadian  over  all  !  " 

One  night  in  February,  just  before  the  Doctor's 
mid-winter  visit,  a  friend  of  the  dead  poet  passed  a 
night  beneath  the  roof  of  the  old  manor  house  as  Mr. 
Ewart's  guest.  After  the  yellow  chintz  curtains  were 
close  drawn,  so  shutting  out  the  wintry  night,  and 
while  the  backlog  was  glowing,  he  read  to  us  from  those 
poems  that  at  the  author's  will  exact  tears  or  smiles 
from  their  hearers.  After  the  reading  of  "  The  Rossig- 
nol  ",  Jamie  took  his  seat  at  the  piano  and  played 
softly  that  exquisite  old  French  Canadian  air  "  Sur  la 
montagne  ". 

Mr.  Ewart  rose  and,  taking  his  stand  beside  him, 
sang  the  words  of  the  poem  which  have  been  set  to 
this  music. 

"  Jus  '  as  de  sun  is  tryin' 

Climb  on  de  summer  sky 
Two  leetle  birds  come  flyin' 

Over  de  mountain  high  — 
Over  de  mountain,  over  de  mountain, 

Hear  dem  call, 
Hear  dem  call  —  poor  leetle  rossignol  !  " 

They  recalled  to  me  that  twin  song  of  Bjornson's 
which,  despite  its  joyous  note  of  anticipation,  holds 
the  same  pathos  of  unsatisfied  longing. 

The  last  note  had  scarcely  been  struck  when  Jamie 
broke  into  the  jolly  accompaniment  to 

"  For  he  was  a  grand  Seigneur,  my  dear, 
He  was  a  grand  Seigneur." 

And,  listening  so  to  poems  and  music  and  the  talk 
of  these  men  of  fine  mind  and  high  aspirations,  to 


212  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

their  hopes  for  Canada  as  a  whole,  to  their  expression 
of  pride  in  her  marvellous  growth  and  their  faith  in 
her  future,  I  said  to  myself: 

"  Am  I  the  girl,  or  rather  woman  now,  who  a  few 
years  ago  made  her  way  up  from  the  narrow  thorough 
fares  about  Barclay  Street  to  her  attic  room  in  '  old 
Chelsea  '  —  up  through  the  traffic-congested  streets  of 
New  York,  in  the  dark  of  the  late  winter  afternoon, 
the  melting  snow  falling  in  black  drops  and  streams 
from- the  elevated  above  her;  the  avenues  running 
brown  snow-water;  the  rails  gleaming;  the  steaming 
horses  plashing  through  slush;  the  fog  making  haloes 
about  the  dimmed  arc-lights;  the  hurrying,  pressing 
tide  of  humanity  surging  this  way  and  that  and  nearly 
taking  her  off  her  feet  at  the  crossings;  the  whole 
city  reeking  with  a  warm-chill  mist,  and  the  shriek 
ing,  grinding,  grating,  whistling,  roaring  polyglot  din 
of  the  metropolis  half  deafening  her?  " 

Thinking  of  this  as  I  stared  into  the  fire,  listening 
to  the  good  talk  on  many  subjects,  something  —  was 
it  the  frost  of  homelessness?  —  melted  in  my  heart. 
The  feelings  and  emotions  that  had  been  benumbed 
through  the  icy  chill  of  circumstance,  thawed  within 
me.  The  tears,  usually  unready,  filled  my  eyes.  I 
bent  my  head  that  the  others  might  not  see,  but  they 
fell  faster  and  faster.  And  with  every  one  that 
plashed  on  my  hands,  as  they  lay  folded  in  my  lap, 
I  felt  the  unbinding  from  my  life  of  one  hard  year 
after  another,  until  the  woman  who  rose  to  bring  in 
the  porridge,  in  order  to  cover  her  emotion,  was  one 
who  rose  free  of  all  thwarting  circumstance.  I  had 
come  into  my  own  — •  a  woman's  own. 

But  I  failed  to  read  the  third  sign. 


XVII 

DOCTOR  RUGVIE'S  visit!  It  was  fruitful  of 
much,  little  as  I  anticipated  that. 
I  wrote  regularly  every  month  to  Delia 
Beaseley  telling  her  all  that  I  knew  would  be  of  inter 
est  to  her  about  my  life  at  Lamoral,  and  assuring  her 
that  my  lines  had  fallen  in  pleasant  places.  She  wrote, 
at  first,  to  tell  me  that  my  wish,  in  regard  to  keeping 
my  identity  from  Doctor  Rugvie  for  the  present, 
would  be  respected;  but  in  a  later  letter  she  urged  me 
to  make  it  known  to  him;  to  ascertain  all  the  facts 
possible  about  my  parentage.  I  replied  that  I  pre 
ferred  to  wait. 

And  why  did  I  prefer  to  wait?  I  asked  myself  this 
question  and  found  no  answer.  When  the  answer 
came,  it  was  unmistakable  in  its  leadings. 

"  A  letter  from  Doctor  Rugvie;  he  is  coming  Mon 
day!  "  I  cried  joyfully,  flourishing  the  sheet  in  Jamie's 
face  when  he  appeared  at  the  door  to  ask  for  his 
mail. 

I  was  sitting  on  the  floor  by  the  shelves  in  the  living- 
room,  for  I  was  busy  cataloguing  the  books  in  the 
general  and  mixed  collection,  and  searching  for  allied 
subjects.  This  work  Mr.  Ewart  assigned  to  me  after 
I  had  finished  the  "  forestry  "  cataloguing. 

"  Where  's  mine?  " 

"  You  have  n't  any,  nor  Mr.  Ewart  —  from  the 
Doctor,  I  mean." 


214  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

"  You  seem  to  be  particularly  elated  over  the  fact." 

"  Jamie,  my  friend,  feel  —  "I  held  up  the  envelope 
to  him;  he  took  it  and  fingered  it  investigatingly. 

"  What 's  this  in  it?  " 

"  That  is  an  object  which  in  international  currency 
exchange  we  call  a  draft  —  the  equivalent  of  my 
wages,  Jamie;  in  other  words,  payment  for  industrial 
efficiency;  do  you  hear?  " 

"  My,  but  you  are  a  mercenary  woman!  One  of  the 
kind  we  read  of  in  the  States,"  he  retorted. 

"  Wait  till  you  get  your  first  check  for  royalties 
from  London,  then  use  that  word  and  tone  to  me  again 
if  you  dare." 

Mr.  Ewart  opened  the  door  of  the  office. 

"  What 's  this  I  hear  about  the  Doctor  and  mer 
cenary  tendencies  —  the  two  don't  go  together  as  I 
happen  to  know."  He  spoke  from  the  threshold. 

Jamie  showed  him  the  envelope,  holding  it  high 
above  my  head. 

"  This,  Ewart,  is  the  compensation  for  sundry  days 
of  so-called  labor  on  the  part  of  Miss  Farrell  —  drives, 
snow-shoeing,  tobogganing  with  Cale  not  discounted, 
of  course.  Shall  I  read  it,  Marcia?  " 

"  For  all  I  care." 

Mr.  Ewart  looked  on  smiling  at  our  chaff. 

"  It 's  on  the  First  National  Bank  of  New  York, 
Ewart,  for  the  amount  of  fifty-two  dollars  and 
eighty-seven  cents  —  how  's  that  about  the  cents, 
Marcia?  " 

"  Because  the  Doctor  insists  on  paying  me  every 
two  months  and  seems  to  call  thirty  days  a  month 
—  why  every  two,  I  don't  know,  do  you?  "  I  said 
laughing,  and  looking  up, questioning, into  Mr.Ewart's 
face.  What  I  saw  there,  what  I  am  sure  Jamie  saw, 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  215 

was  not  encouraging  for  more  jesting  on  Jamie's  part 
or  mine.  He  turned  away  abruptly  and  sat  down  at 
his  desk  before  he  spoke: 

"  The  Doctor  wired  me  this  afternoon  that  he 
would  be  here  to-night  instead  of  Monday,  as  he  can 
get  in  an  extra  day.  I  can't  say  how  sorry  I  am  it  has 
happened  so,  for  I  made  arrangements  to  be  in  Quebec 
to-night  and  in  Ottawa  to-morrow  night.  I  return 
Monday.  Well,  I  must  leave  him  in  your  hands  — 
he  won't  lack  entertainment.  I  wish,  Jamie,  it  were 
possible  for  you  to  risk  it  and  meet  him  with  me  this 
evening;  but  I  suppose  this  night  air  is  too  keen  — 
it 's  ten  below  now.  I  shall  take  the  train  he  comes 
on  and  may  not  have  time  for  a  word  of  welcome." 

"  I  suppose  it  would  be  risking  too  much."  Jamie 
spoke  with  something  that  sounded  like  a  sigh.  "  I 
don't  want  the  Doctor  to  roar  at  me  the  first  thing 
because  I  am  indiscreet  —  not  after  what  he  and  his 
advice  and  kindness  have  done  for  me  already." 

Mr.  Ewart  laid  a  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"  You  're  another  man,  Macleod,  since  coming 
here.  We  won't  make  any  back  tracks  into  that 
wilderness,  will  we?  "  He  spoke  so  gently,  so  affec 
tionately,  that  Jamie  turned  suddenly  to  him,  ex 
claiming  impulsively: 

"  Gordon,  if  you  were  a  woman  I  'd  kiss  you  for 
saying  that." 

I  knew  what  courage  it  gave  him  to  hear  this  from 
his  friend;  and  I  wondered  what  kind  of  a  man  this 
might  be  who,  one  moment,  could  look  stern  and  un 
yielding  at  our  half  childish  chaffing,  and  in  the  next 
be  all  affectionate  solicitude  for  this  younger  man 
who,  at  times,  was  all  boy. 

"  Then,  Miss  Farrell,"  he  turned  to  me,  "  won't 


216  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

you  come?  Cale  will  drive  me  over  in  the  double 
pung." 

There  was  no  hesitation  in  my  giving  an  affirma 
tive  answer. 

"  We  '11  have  supper  within  an  hour,  please,  Mrs. 
Macleod,"  he  said,  as  she  entered  the  room.  He  looked 
at  the  pile  of  books  on  the  floor  beside  me. 

"  It 's  too  late  for  you  to  work  any  more."  He 
stooped  and,  gathering  up  an  armful,  began  to  place 
them.  "  Will  you  be  so  kind  as  to  speak  to  Marie 
and  tell  her  to  have  four  soapstones  thoroughly 
heated,  and  ask  Cale  to  warm  the  robes?  It  will  be 
twenty  below  before  you  get  back." 

"  Just  what  I  've  wanted  to  do  all  winter,"  I  ex 
claimed;  "  a  drive  on  such  a  clear,  full-moon  night 
to  Richelieu-en-Haut  will  be  something  to  remem 
ber." 

"  I  hope  to  make  it  so ;  for  it 's  a  typical  Canadian 
midwinter  night  —  a  thing  of  splendor  if  seen  with 
seeing  eyes." 

"  Then  you  won't  expect  me  to  talk  much,  will 
you?  " 

"  No,"  —  he  smiled  genially,  and  Jamie  auda 
ciously  winked  at  me  behind  his  back,  —  "  it 's  apt  to 
make  my  teeth  ache,  and  although  yours  are  as  sound 
as  mine,  I  don't  believe  they  can  stand  prolonged 
exposure  to  severe  cold  any  better.  But  how  about 
Cale?  There  is  no  ice  embargo  on  his  flow  of 
speech." 

Jamie  burst  into  a  laugh.  "  You  're  right,  Gordon, 
he  '11  do  all  the  talking  for  both,  and  for  the  Doctor 
too.  By  the  way,  mother,"  he  said,  turning  to  Mrs. 
Macleod  and  at  the  same  time  holding  out  a  hand  to 
help  me  up  from  the  floor  —  an  attention  I  ignored 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  217 

to  save  his  strength  — "  something  Cale  said  the 
other  day,  but  casually,  led  me  to  think  he  may  be  a 
benedict  instead  of  a  bachelor;  you  have  n't  found 
out  yet?  " 

"  No,  but  sometime  it  will  come  right  for  me  to 
ask  him.  He  has  consideration  for  women  in  just 
those  little  things  that  would  lead  me  to  believe  that 
he  has  been  married  — 

"  Oh,  I  say,  mother,  that  's  rough  on  Ewart  and 
me.  Give  us  a  point  or  two  on  the  '  little  things ', 
will  you?  " 

"  Stop  teasing,  Jamie;  I  still  think,  as  I  thought 
from  the  first,  that  he  has  been  — 

"  Perhaps  more  than  once,  mother!  Perhaps  he  's 
a  widower,  or  even  a  grass  widower  —  I  Ve  heard 
of  such  in  the  States  —  or  he  might  be  a  divorce,  or 
a  Morman,  or  a  swami  gone  astray  —  " 

"  Havers!  "  she  exclaimed,  with  a  show  of  resent 
ment  which  caused  her  son  to  rejoice,  for  it  was  only 
when  thoroughly  out  of  patience  with  him  that  she 
used  the  Scotch. 

"  You  're  too  absurd,"  I  said  with  a  warning  look. 

"  Mother  is  for  stiff  back-boned  unrelentingness  in 
such  things,"  he  remarked  soberly,  after  she  and  Mr. 
Ewart  left  the  room;  "  and  I  Ve  put  my  foot  into 
it  too,"  he  added  dolefully.  "  Why,  the  deuce,  did  n't 
you  stop  me  in  time?  " 

"  How  did  I  know  how  far  your  nonsense  would 
lead  you?  " 

"  Well,  I  don't  care  —  much;  I  can't  step  round  on 
eggs  just  because  of  what  I  Ve  heard  - 

"  If  only  you  had  n't  said  anything  about  '  grass 
widower  '  !  " 

"  Don't  rub  it  in  so,"  he  said  pettishly,  and  by  that 


218  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

same  token  I  knew  he  was  repentant  because,  without 
intention,  he  might  have  spoken  in  a  way  to  hurt 
momentarily  his  friend. 

"  Beats  all  how  dumb  critters  scent  a  change,"  said 
Cale,  just  after  supper.  He  was  loaded  with  the 
robes  he  had  been  warming.  Pierre  was  waiting  in 
the  pung,  having  brought  the  horses  around  a  little 
early.  Little  Pete  with  a  soapstone  was  following 
Cale.  "  They  begun  to  be  uneasy  'bout  two  hours 
ago;  I  take  it  they  heard  Mr.  Ewart  say  he  was 
leavin'  on  the  night  express,  and  begun  to  get  nerved 
up." 

"  So  they  did,  Cale;  they  were  in  the  office,  all  four 
of  them,  and  heard  every  word.  Look  at  them!  " 

Cale  stopped  on  his  way  to  the  front  door  and  looked 
up  the  stairway.  Mr.  Ewart  was  coming  down,  a 
dog  on  each  side  of  him,  and  two  behind  fairly  nosing 
his  heels.  They  made  no  demonstration;  were  not 
apparently  expectant;  but,  as  Cale  remarked  '  they 
froze  mighty  close  to  him  ',  sneaking  down  step  by 
step  beside  and  behind  him,  ears  drooping,  tails 
well  curled  between  their  legs  —  four  despairing 
setters! 

We  watched  them.  Mr.  Ewart  paid  no  heed  to 
them.  They  heeled  along  in  the  passageway  almost 
on  their  bellies  when  he  took  his  fur  coat  from  the 
hook.  He  had  another  on  his  arm  which  he  held  open 
for  me. 

"  I  really  am  warmly  enough  dressed,"  I  said. 

"  I  don't  doubt  it  —  for  now;  but  you  '11  be  grate 
ful  enough  to  me  three  hours  later  for  insisting  on 
your  wearing  it  —  in  with  you!  "  He  moved  a  dog  or 
two  from  under  his  feet,  gently  but  forcibly  with  the 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  219 

tip  of  his  boot;   whereupon  they  literally  crawled  on 
the  floor. 

"  If  you  don't  mind,  Cale,"   -  he  spoke  purposely 
in  a  low  monotone,  but  with  a  look  of  amusement,  - 
"  if  you  don't  mind  having  the  dogs  in  with  you  under 
the  robes  on  the  front  seat,  I  'm  willing  to  have  them 
go,  but  I  don't  want  them  to  run  with  the  pung." 

I  noticed  no  movement  on  the  part  of  the  dogs  ex 
cept  an  intense  quivering  of  the  whole  body.  One 
who  does  not  understand  doghood  might  have  fan 
cied  they  were  shivering  at  the  prospect  of  the  eight 
een-mile  drive  in  the  cold. 

"  I  ain't  no  objection,"  said  Cale;  "  the  fact  is 
there  ain't  no  better  foot-warmer  'n  a  dog  on  a  cold 
night,  an'  I  was  goin'  ter  ask  if  I  could  n't  have  the 
loan  of  one  of  'em  fer  ter-night." 

"  Well,  they  can  all  go  —  " 

The  last  word  was  drowned  in  a  chaos  of  frantically 
joyous  barks.  They  leaped  on  him,  caressed  him, 
stood  up  with  their  forepaws  stemmed  on  the  breast 
of  his  fur  coat,  licked  his  boots,  his  hands,  and  at 
tempted  his  face  —  but  of  that  he  would  have  none. 

"  Be  still  now  —  and  come  on,  comrades!  "  he  said. 
The  four  made  a  mad  but  silent  rush  for  the  door. 
Cale  gave  them  right  of  way;  Pierre  swore  great 
French  oaths  wholly  disproportionate  to  the  occasion, 
for  the  outrush  of  the  dogs  caused  the  French  coach 
horses  to  plunge  only  twice.  At  last  we  were  in  — 
the  dogs  in  front  with  Cale,  and  Mr.  Ewart  and  I  on 
the  back  seat,  so  muffled  in  furs,  fur  robes,  fur  caps, 
coats  and  mittens,  that  we  humans  were  scarce  to 
be  distinguished  from  our  canine  neighbors. 

We  no  longer  used  the  frozen  creek  for  a  crossing, 
but  drove  a  mile  up  the  road  to  the  highroad  bridge. 


220  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

The  night  was  very  cold.  The  moon  had  not  yet 
risen.  The  stars  shone  with  Arctic  splendor.  Cale 
drove  us  rapidly  over  the  dry,  hard-packed  snow  - 
to  my  amazement  in  silence.  Through  the  woods, 
down  the  river  road  we  sped,  and  on  through  Riche- 
lieu-en-Bas.  The  light  in  the  cabaret  by  the  steam 
boat  landing  shone  dimly;  the  panes  were  thick  with 
frost.  Here  and  there  a  bright  lamp  gleamed  from 
some  window,  but,  as  a  whole,  the  village  was  dark. 
We  drove  on  to  the  open  country  towards  Richelieu- 
en-Haut  six  miles  away,  sometimes  through  a  short 
stretch  of  deep  woods  where  the  horses  shied  at  the 
misshapen  stumps,  snow-covered.  Then  out  into  the 
open  again,  the  flat  expanse  of  white  seemingly  un 
broken.  Here  and  there,  far  across  the  snow-fields, 
I  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  light  from  some  farmhouse. 
Once  we  heard  the  baying  of  a  hound,  at  which  all  four 
setters  came  suddenly  to  life  from  beneath  the  robes 
and  barked  vindictive  response. 

To  the  north  the  sky  was  dark  and  less  star-strewn 
than  above.  Suddenly  I  was  aware  of  a  wondrous 
change:  the  stars  paled;  the  north  glowed  with 
tremulous  light,  translucent  yellow  that  deepened 
to  gold  —  an  arc  of  gold  spanning  twenty  degrees 
on  the  horizon.  The  glory  quivered;  ran  to 
and  fro;  fluctuated  from  east  to  west,  unstable  as 
liquid,  ethereal  as  gas;  paled  gradually;  then,  in  the 
twinkling  of  an  eye,  dissolved,  and  in  its  dissolution 
sent  streamer  after  streamer,  rose,  saffron,  pale  crocus 
and  white,  rapidly  zenithward,  rising,  sinking,  undu 
lating,  till  the  heavens  were  filled  with  marvellous 
light.  Cale  reined  in  the  horses  for  a  moment. 

"  Guess  this  can't  be  beat  by  the  biggest  show  on 
earth,"  he  remarked  appreciatively. 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  221 

"  Look  to  the  right  —  the  east,  Miss  Farrell,"  said 
Mr.  Ewart. 

I  leaned  forward  to  look  past  him.  Over  the  white 
expanse,  lightened  in  the  rays  of  the  northern  aurora, 
the  moon,  nearly  full,  showed  the  half  of  its  red-gold 
disk. 

The  glory  faded  from  the  heavens;  the  moon,  rising 
rapidly,  sent  its  beams  over  the  fields;  the  horses  saw 
their  shadows  long  on  the  off  side.  Cale  chirruped  to 
them,  and  we  sped  onwards  to  the  station. 

I  was  happy!  If  Cale  had  called  me  by  that  name 
at  this  time  I  would  have  welcomed  it.  It  applied  to 
me.  It  was  good  to  be  alive;  good  to  be  out  in  such 
a  world  of  natural  glory;  good  to  have,  in  the  night 
and  the  silence,  such  companionship  that  understood 
my  own  silence  of  enjoyment. 

I  was  happy  at  the  prospect  of  the  Doctor's  coming. 
The  thought  of  the  future  removal  to  the  farm  no 
longer  filled  me  with  misgivings.  "  I  shall  still  be 
near  the  manor,  it  will  not  be  banishment  in  any 
sense."  So  I  comforted  myself. 

I  turned  to  get  a  look  over  the  ridge  of  fur  at  the 
man  beside  me.  He  had  spoken  but  once,  to  ask  if 
I  were  comfortable.  I  wondered  if  he  were  enjoying 
all  this  as  much  as  I?  He  must  have  read  my  thought 
for  he  turned  his  face  to  me,  saying : 

"  I  am  enjoying  all  this  on  my  own  behalf,  and 
doubly  because  your  enjoyment  of  it  is  so  evident." 

"  How  evident?  You  can't  see  that,  and  I  have  n't 
said  a  word." 

"  Perhaps  for  that  very  reason." 

He  leaned  over  and  drew  the  robe  farther  about  my 
exposed  shoulder.  I  felt  the  strength  of  his  arm  as  he 
pulled  at  the  heavy  pelt,  the  gentleness  of  his  touch 


222  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

as  he  tucked  it  behind  my  back.  So  little  of  this 
thoughtf ulness  and  care  had  been  mine!  Almost 
nothing  of  it  in  my  life !  No  wonder  that  other  women 
who  are  cared  for,  carried  on  loving  hands,  protected 
by  the  bulwark  of  a  man's  love,  cannot  understand 
what  the  simple  adjustment  of  that  robe  around  a 
chilled  shoulder  meant  to  me,  Marcia  Farrell! 

He  was  always  doing  something  in  general  for  my 
comfort  and  pleasure,  but  never  anything  special. 
Even  this  drive  I  owed  to  Jamie's  physical  inability 
to  accept  his  friend's  invitation.  But  this  fact  did 
not  quench  my  joy. 

"  Are  you  comfortable  —  feet  warm?  "  he  asked 
for  the  second  time. 

"  As  warm  as  toast." 

What  was  it  that  I  felt  as  I  continued  to  sit  silent 
by  this  man's  side?  —  an  alien,  I  had  called  him  to  the 
Doctor;  fool  that  I  was!  I  felt  a  peculiar  sense  of 
perfect  physical  rest  I  had  never  before  experienced, 
a  consciousness  of  happy  companionship  that  needed 
no  word  to  make  itself  understood.  This  sense  of 
companionship,  this  rest  of  soul  and  body  during  the 
two  hours  I  passed  at  this  man's  side  —  I  enjoyed 
them  to  the  full.  The  feelings  and  emotions  of  the 
woman  who,  only  a  few  evenings  before,  had  thrown 
off  the  yoke  of  burdening  circumstance,  who  had 
broken,  to  her  own  physical  benefit,  with  past  asso 
ciations  and  memories,  found  scope,  in  the  protecting 
night  and  the  silence,  for  perilous  flights  of  imagina 
tion.  Thoughts  undreamed  of  hitherto,  desires  I  had 
never  supposed  permissible  in  my  narrow  walk  of  life, 
proved  their  power  over  me  at  this  hour.  Hopes  un 
bounded,  if  wholly  unfounded,  —  for  what  had  this 
man  ever  said  to  me  since  his  home-coming  that  he 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  223 

had  not  said  a  dozen  times  to  every  member  of  his 
household?  —  imagined  joys  of  another,  a  dual  life  — • 

"  Yes,"  I  said  to  myself,  giving  rein  to  pleasing 
fantasy,  "  a  dual  life  in  one  —  our  lives,  his  and  mine, 
one  and  inseparable;  why  not,  Marcia  Farrell?  Why 
should  n't  I  grasp  with  both  hands  outstretched  at 
all  life  may  have  to  give  me?  Why  not  hold  it  fast 
even  if  it  have  thorns?  " 

Imagination  was  carrying  me  out  of  myself.  I 
called  a  halt  to  all  this  frenzy,  as  it  at  once  appeared 
to  me  by  the  cold  light  of  the  moon,  and  brought  my 
self  down  to  earth  and  common  sense  with  a  jolt. 
I  moved  uneasily. 

"  Are  you  cold?  "  Mr.  Ewart  asked,  evidently  no 
ticing  the  movement. 

"  No;  but  too  much  aurora,  I  'm  afraid." 

"  Did  you  feel  that  too?  I  thought  I  would  n't 
mention  it,  but  something  affected  me  powerfully  for 
the  moment,  and  there  has  been  an  aftermath  of  sen 
sation  since.  If  this  display  is  wholly  electrical,  it 
may  easily  be  that  some  human  machines  are  tuned 
like  the  wireless  to  catch  certain  vibrations  at  certain 
times." 

I  sat  down  hard,  metaphorically,  on  eight  feet  of 
frozen  earth  upon  hearing  this  explanation.  "  You 
little  fool,"  I  said  to  myself,  but  aloud: 

"Whatever  it  was,  it  was  effectual;  I  have  never 
experienced  anything  like  it." 

"Never?" 

"  No;    have  you?  " 

The  answer  seemed  long  in  coming. 

"  Yes,  many  years  ago;  and  it  was  here  in  this 
northern  country  too.  Sometime  I  would  like  to  tell 
you  about  it.  —  Cale,"  he  spoke  quickly,  abruptly, 


224  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

"  I  hear  the  train.  Keep  the  horses  in  the  open  road 
way  behind  the  station,  then  if  they  bolt  at  the  head 
light  you  can  have  free  rein  and  a  clear  road.  They  Ve 
never  seen  that  light.  We  '11  get  out  here,"  he  said, 
throwing  off  the  robes  as  Cale  drew  rein  at  the  edge  of 
the  platform,  "  and  you  can  welcome  the  Doctor  for 
me  if  I  miss  him." 

He  whisked  me  out  of  the  pung,  giving  me  both 
hands  as  aid,  and  replaced  the  robes. 

"  Keep  the  horses  head  on,  and  don't  let  the  dogs 
run,"  were  his  last  words  to  Cale. 

The  Quebec  express  whistled  at  the  curve  an  eighth 
of  a  mile  distant  from  the  junction;  the  sound  fell 
strangely  flat  in  the  intense  cold.  Cale  braced  himself 
to  handling  the  horses.  I  followed  Mr.  Ewart  to  the 
front  of  the  platform. 

The  engine  was  thundering  past  us,  and  the  train 
drawing  to  a  stop  of  fifteen  seconds. 

"  Take  off  your  mitten,"  he  said  abruptly;  I  pulled 
it  off  with  a  jerk.  He  held  out  his  ungloved  hand,  and 
I  laid  mine  within  it.  The  two  palms,  warm,  throb 
bing  with  coursing  life,  met  — 

"  Goodby  till  Monday  —  and  thank  you  for  com 
ing.  There  he  is!  " 

He  had  just  time  to  see  the  Doctor  appear  on  the 
platform  at  the  other  end  of  the  car.  Mr.  Ewart  called 
to  him  as  he  swung  himself  on  to  the  already  moving 
train : 

"  John,  look  out  for  Miss  Farrell  — 

The  dazed  Doctor  failed  to  grasp  the  situation.  Mr. 
Ewart  waved  his  hand  as  he  passed  him;  "Till 
Monday  —  Miss  Farrell  will  explain." 

"  Miss  Farrell,  eh?  "  The  Doctor  turned  to  me 
who  was  at  his  side  by  means  of  an  awkward  skip 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  225 

and  a  jump,  cumbered  as  I  was  with  the  long  coat. 
"  Br-r-rre!  Is  this  the  weather  you  give  me  as  a  greet- 
ing?  " 

"  Why  don't  you  say  rather: '  Is  this  the  weather 
you  brave  to  meet  me  in?  '  Would  n't  that  sound 
more  to  the  point?  Come  on  to  the  pung;  the  soap- 
stones  are  fine." 

"  Ah  —  that  sounds  more  like  Canadian  hospitality. 
Come  on  yourself,  Marcia  Farrell;  where 's  the 
pung?  " 

"  Behind  the  station,  that  is,  if  the  horses  have  n't 
bolted  with  Cale  and  the  four  dogs.  Here  he  is." 

Four  canine  noses  were  visible  above  the  robes ;  eight 
delicate  nostrils  were  flaring  after  the  departing  train. 
At  the  sound  of  the  Doctor's  voice  a  concerted  howl 
arose  from  among  the  robes  on  the  front  seat  —  a  howl 
expressive  of  disappointment,  of  betrayal  by  their 
master:  "  He  is  gone,  we  are  left  behind." 

"  Shut  up,"  said  Cale  shortly,  with  a  significant 
movement  of  his  foot  beneath  the  robes. 

"  Oh,  Cale!  "  I  made  protest,  for  at  that  moment 
I  sympathized.  I  should  have  felt  the  same  had  I 
been  a  dog;  as  it  was  — 

I  looked  after  the  swiftly  receding  train,  a  bright 
beaded  trailing  line  of  black  in  the  white  night.  The 
Doctor  was  opening  the  robes. 

"  In  with  you,  and  then  we  can  talk;  there  's  no 
wind  to  prevent."  , 

As  soon  as  he  was  seated  beside  me  and  the  horses' 
heads  turned  homewards,  he  began  to  chat  in  his 
cheery  way,  he  asking,  I  answering  the  many  ques 
tions;  he  telling  of  Delia  Beaseley  and  his  delight  to 
be  in  Canada  again,  I  inquiring,  until  we  found  our 
selves  passing  through  Richelieu-en-Bas.  And  during 


226  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

all  the  time  I  was  listening  to  his  merry  chat  and 
chaffing,  to  his  kindly  expressed  interest  in  all  that 
pertained  to  my  small  doings  at  the  manor,  I  was 
hearing  the  on-coming  thunder  of  the  engine  and  those 
last  words:  "Take  off  your  mitten  —  Good-by  till 
Monday  —  thank  you  for  coming." 

During  that  hour  and  a  half  of  our  homeward 
drive,  I  gave  no  heed  to  the  perfect  Canadian  night, 
its  silver  radiance,  its  snow  gleam  and  sparkle  enhan 
cing  the  violet  shadows.  I  was  seeing  only  that  long- 
stretching  waste  of  white  beyond  the  junction,  that 
bright  beaded  trailing  line  of  black,  narrowing  and 
foreshortened  as  it  receded  swiftly  into  the  night. 

And  where  was  the  sense  of  physical  rest?  Why 
had  this  unrest  I  was  experiencing  taken  its  place? 
I  was  sitting  beside  as  good  a  man,  as  fine  a  man,  one 
more  than  that  other's  equal  in  achievement,  as  the 
world  counts  achievement.  I  was  groping  for  a  solu 
tion  when  the  Doctor  exclaimed:  "There's  the 
manor!  " 

The  white  walls  and  snow-covered  roof  stood  out 
boldly  against  the  black  massed  background  of  spruce, 
hemlock  and  pine.  The  yellow  chintz  curtains  were 
drawn  apart,  showing  us  both  the  gleam  of  lamp 
light  and  the  leaping  firelight.  At  the  windows  in  the 
living-room  were  Jamie  and  his  mother;  at  those  of 
the  dining-room  both  Angelique  and  Marie  were  visi 
ble  for  a  moment.  The  Pierres,  father  and  son,  were 
at  the  steps  to  lend  a  helping  hand. 

"  We  are  at  home  again,  Marcia,"  the  Doctor  spoke 
significantly.  I  responded,  simulating  joyousness: 

"  Yes,  and  does  n't  it  give  us  a  warm  cheery  wel 
come?  " 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  227 

But  even  as  I  replied,  I  was  conscious  that  the  old 
manor  of  Lamoral  without  its  master  would  never 
be  home  for  me. 

I  went  up  the  steps  answering  gayly  to  Jamie's 
"  Is  he  here?  "  But  by  the  emptiness  of  heart,  by 
the  emptiness  of  the  passageway,  by  the  empty  sound 
of  the  various  greetings,  joyous  and  hearty  as  they 
in  truth  were,  I  knew  I  needed  no  fourth  sign  to  inter 
pret  myself  to  myself. 

My  woman's  hour  had  struck  —  and  with  no  un 
certain  sound. 


XVIII 

"  ,4  ND  what  next?  "  I  asked  myself  after  my 
/-%  head  was  on  the  pillow  and  while  staring 
hour  after  hour  at  the  opposite  wall.  Surely 
I  had  read  enough  of  love!  I  had  imagined  what  it 
might  be  like,  even  if  I  had  never  experienced  it,  even 
if  I  had  thought  little  enough  about  it  in  connection 
with  myself.  I  did  not  know  it  on  what  might  be 
called  the  positive  side,  but  I  seemed  to  have  some 
knowledge  of  it  negatively.  I  knew  it  could  be  cruel, 
cruel  as  death;  my  own  mother  was  a  dead  witness 
to  that.  I  knew  it  could  be  brutal  when  passion  alone 
means  love;  I  was  eye  witness  to  this  on  Columbia 
Heights  not  so  very  long  ago.  I  knew,  or  thought  I 
knew,  that  it  could  be  killed,  or  rather  worn  to  a 
thread  by  the  slow  grinding  of  adverse  circumstance. 
I  recalled  my  own  lack  of  affection  after  the  years  of 
sacrifice  for  the  imbecile  grandfather,  my  shiftless 
aunt. 

And  now,  in  the  face  of  such  knowledge,  to  have  this 
revelation !  This  sudden  absorption  in  another  of  my 
humankind;  all  my  thought  at  once,  without  warn 
ing,  transferred  to  that  other  wherever  he  might  be; 
all  interest  in  life  centering  with  the  force  of  gravity 
in  that  other's  life;  "  at  home  "  only  in  that  other's 
presence ;  at  rest  only  by  his  side  — 

"  Now,  look  here,   Marcia  Farrell,  don't  you  be 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  229 

Jane  Eyrey,"  I  said  to  myself  in  a  low  but  stern  voice. 
I  sat  up  in  bed  and  drew  the  extra  comforter  about 
my  shoulders.  "  No  nonsense  at  your  age!  You  ac 
cept  the  fact  that  you  love  this  man,  —  and  you  will 
have  to  whether  you  want  to  or  not,  —  a  man  who  has 
never  spoken  a  word  of  love  to  you,  who  has  treated 
you  with  the  consideration,  it  is  no  more,  no  less  than 
that,  which  he  shows  to  every  member  of  his  house 
hold.  Now,  make  the  most  of  this  fact,  but  without 
showing  it.  Don't  make  the  youthful  mistake,  since 
you  are  no  longer  a  girl,  of  fancying  he  is  reciprocating 
what  you  feel,  feeling  your  every  feeling,  thinking 
your  every  thought.  And,  above  all,  don't  betray  your 
self  at  this  crisis  of  your  life,  to  him  or  any  mem 
ber  of  his  household  —  not  to  Delia  Beaseley,  not  to 
Doctor  Rugvie.  Rest  in  his  presence  when  you  can. 
Rejoice  to  be  near  him  —  but  inwardly,  only,  re 
member  that !  —  when  you  shall  find  opportunity,  but 
don't  make  one;  discipline  yourself  in  this,  there  will 
be  need  enough  for  it.  '  Stick  to  your  sure  trot ' ; 
give  full  compensation  in  work  for  your  wages  —  and 
enjoy  what  this  new  life  may  offer  you  from  day  to 
day.  This  new  joy  is  your  own;  keep  it  to  yourself. 
Now  lie  down  for  good  and  all,  and  go  to  sleep." 

Thereupon  I  snugged  down  among  the  welcome 
warmth  of  the  bed-clothes,  saying  to  myself : 

"  I  don't  care  '  what  next '.     I  am  so  happy  - 
happy  —  happy  - 

But,  even  as  I  spoke  that  word  softly  —  oh,  so 
softly!  —  laying  the  palm  of  my  right  hand,  that  still 
felt  the  strong  throbbing  of  his,  under  my  cheek,  I 
remembered  that  Cale  had  never  once  called  me  by 
the  name  he  had  proposed,  "  Happy  "  ;  that  Jamie 
noticed  the  omission  and  remarked  on  it. 


230  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

And  what  did  Cale  know?  What  could  he  know? 
There  used  to  be  a  family  of  Marstins  in  our  town  be 
fore  I  was  born.  My  aunt  told  me  once  that  her  sister 
married  into  the  family;  that,  too,  was  before  I  was 
born.  I  never  knew  any  one  of  the  name,  and  I  never 
cared  to  look  at  the  old  family  headstones.  The 
churchyard,  because  it  held  my  mother,  was  hateful 
to  me. 

And  I?  I  was  too  cowardly  to  ask  Cale  why  he 
omitted  to  call  me  by  his  chosen  name;  for  by  that 
name  my  mother  was  known  among  her  own,  so  I 
was  told  —  that  mother  whom  I  never  knew,  whose 
memory  I  never  loved,  of  whom  I  was  ashamed  be 
cause  people  said  she  had  belied  her  womanhood. 

But  ever  since  Delia  Beaseley  opened  my  eyes  to  a 
portion  of  the  truth  concerning  her,  I  had  felt  great 
pity  for  her.  Now,  at  the  thought  of  her,  dying  for 
love,  for  this  very  thing  that  had  come  to  me  like 
lightning  out  of  the  blue,  dying  without  friends  in 
that  dull  basement  in  V—  -  Court,  my  heartstrings 
contracted,  literally,  for  I  experienced  a  feeling  of 
suffocation. 

"  Mother,  oh,  mother,"  I  cried  out  under  my 
breath,  "  was  it  for  this,  that  I  know  to  be  love,  you 
gave  your  all,  even  life  itself?  Oh,  I  have  understood 
so  little  —  so  little;  I  have  been  so  hard,  mother.  I 
did  n't  know  — •  forgive  me,  mother  —  forgive,  I  never 
knew  - 

It  eased  me  to  speak  out  these  words,  although  I 
knew  that  in  giving  utterance  to  them  my  ears  were 
the  only  ones  the  sound  of  my  pleading  could  reach. 
Those  ears,  on  which  the  word  mother  would  have 
fallen  so  blessedly,  would  never  hear,  could  never 
hear.  Not  so  very  far  away,  in  northern  New  Eng- 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  231 

land,  the  snows  lay  white  and  deep,  as  white  and 
deep  as  in  Canada,  on  her  neglected  grave. 

Something  Delia  Beaseley  quoted  from  my  mother 
in  her  hour  of  trial  flashed  again  into  consciousness: 
"  The  little  life  that  is  coming  is  worth  all  this."  And 
my  mother  must  have  said  it  knowing  all  the  joy,  the 
bliss,  the  suffering,  both  of  body  and  of  soul,  that  this 
love  must  in  due  time  bring  to  her  daughter,  because 
she  was  a  woman-child. 

What  a  Dolorous  Way  my  mother  must  have 
trodden,  must  have  been  willing  to  tread  for  this! 

There  are  minutes,  rare  in  the  longest  lives,  when 
life  becomes  so  intensified  that  vision  clears  almost 
preternaturally,  sees  through  telescopic  lenses,  so  to 
speak.  At  such  moments,  the  soul  becomes  so  highly 
sensitized  that  it  may  photograph  for  future  reference 
the  birth  or  passing  of  Love's  star. 


XIX 

T  T  'S  my  innings  now,  while  Ewart  is  away," 
said  the  Doctor;  "  Marcia,  will  you  go  skiing 
to-morrow  with  me  and  Cale?  " 

"  Did  n't  I  promise  you  I  would  wait  till  you  came?  " 

"  I  know  you  did;  but  possession,  you  know,  is 
nine  tenths  of  the  law,  and  Ewart  has  been  having  it 
all  his  own  way  here  with  you  since  I  left.  He  did, 
however,  give  me  a  parting  word  to  look  out  for  you. 
I  don't  see  that  you  need  much  looking  after;  a  young 
lady  perfectly  able  to  look  out  for  herself,  eh,  Mrs. 
Macleod?  " 

"  Perhaps  the  circumstances  warranted  some  sort 
of  chaperonage,  Doctor,"  said  Mrs.  Macleod,  entering 
into  his  fun  and  frolic  as  into  no  one's  else.  "  As  Marcia 
sets  it  forth,  she  was  alone,  except  for  you,  on  the 
platform  of  the  junction  nine  miles  from  home,  with 
Cale  braced  in  the  pung  on  the  highroad,  ready  for 
the  horses  to  bolt." 

"Yes,"  said  the  Doctor,  musing,  "  the  circumstances 
were  slightly  out  of  the  ordinary.  —  A  full  bowl,  if  you 
please,  Marcia." 

We  were  sitting  around  the  hearth  in  the  living- 
room  on  the  following  Sunday  evening.  Porridge 
had  just  been  brought  in  and  I  was  dispensing  it. 
Mr.  Ewart's  insistence  upon  Gale's  joining  us  at  this 
hour  every  evening,  and  remaining  with  us  when  no 
guest  was  present  —  the  Doctor  we  counted  one  of 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  233 

us  —  had  for  result  that,  many  an  evening,  we  lis 
tened  delighted  and  interested  to  his  stories  of  ad 
venture  in  the  new  Northwest.  He  was,  in  truth,  a 
man  of  the  woods,  a  man  also  of  their  moods,  and  like 
them  showing  track  and  trail,  leafy  underbrush, 
primeval  forest  trees,  and  the  darling  flowers  of  the 
forest  as  well;  but,  also,  like  them,  withholding  from 
our  eyes  the  secret  springs  of  his  life.  We  often  won 
dered  if  ever  he  would  disclose  any  one  of  them. 

"  A  Yankee  brother  to  old  Andre,"  was  Jamie's 
definition  of  him.  He  seldom  spoke  of  matters  per 
sonal  to  himself,  so  seldom  that  Jamie's  great  joke, 
perpetrated  in  his  mother's  presence  and  mine,  was 
to  the  effect  that  "  Ewart  and  Cale  and  Marcia  are  all 
enlisted  in  the  reserves,  mother;  and  only  you,  the 
Doctor,  and  I  are  able  to  fight  in  the  open."  The  full 
significance  of  which  good-natured  raillery  I  under 
stood,  and  answered  him  accordingly: 

"  All  in  good  time,  Jamie.  There  is  so  little  to  tell, 
it 's  worth  while  to  keep  you  guessing." 

I  was  serving  Cale  with  his  portion  of  porridge  when 
he  spoke,  answering  the  question  put  by  the  Doctor 
to  me.  Cale  had  been  gradually  appropriating  me 
since  my  coming,  and  I  had  no  cause  to  resent  his 
right  of  proprietorship. 

"  Guess  '  twill  take  two  ter  hold  her  up  the  fust 
few  times;  but  Marcia's  nimble  on  her  feet;  she  '11 
outstrip  us  soon.  She  's  a  mighty  good  one  on  snow- 
shoes." 

"  Ewart  taught  you,  did  n't  he?  "  said  the  Doctor, 
turning  to  me  and  holding  out  his  bowl  the  second 
time.  "  Just  a  spoonful  more,  if  you  please.  I  take 
it  this  oatmeal  came  direct  from  Scotland,  did  n't  it, 
Mrs.  Macleod?  "  She  nodded  a  pleased  affirmative. 


234  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

"  Yes,  and  a  fine  teacher  he  is  too,"  I  responded 
heartily.  I  was  determined  the  Doctor  should  not 
find  me  backward  or  awkward  when  his  friend's 
name  was  mentioned.  With  the  thought  that  to 
morrow  that  friend  would  be  with  me  —  us  —  again, 
I  found  my  spirits  rising.  It  was  hard  to  repress  them. 
Perhaps  the  Doctor's  keen  eye  noticed  something  in 
my  manner,  for  he  spoke  with  emphasis : 

"  Well,  something  has  made  you  over;  there  's  no 
exercise  like  it  in  this  northern  climate." 

"  I  guess  't  ain't  all  snow-shoeing,"  said  Cale  sen- 
tentiously. 

"  You  're  right,  Cale,"  I  said. 

"  Account  for  it  then,  Cale;   I  'd  like  to  hear." 

"  We  '11  give  Doctor  Rugvie  the  recipe  for  all  the 
future  farm-folks,  won't  we?  "  I  nodded  understand- 
ingly  at  Cale. 

"  So  we  will  — •  so  we  will,"  he  replied  thoughtfully. 

"  Out  with  it,  Cale.  What  is  it  has  changed  Marcia 
so?" 

"  Wai,  if  you  want  to  know  I  can  give  it  ter  you  - 
a  reg'lar  tonic  to  be  taken  daily  in  big  doses.  It 's 
old-fashioned,  mebbe,  but  genuine,"  he  said  with  so 
comical  an  emphasis  and  inflection  that  we  laughed. 
"  It  can't  be  beat,  you  '11  see.  Take  equal  parts  of 
dry  clean  air,  so  bracin'  thet  sometimes  a  man  feels 
as  if  he  was  walkin'  on  it,  good  food  and  plenty  of  it, 
good  comp'ny.  Shake  'em  well  together  to  get  out  the 
lumps,  and  mix  well  in  —  a  good  home.  I  take  it 
thet 's  about  it,  Doctor?  " 

"  Cale,  you  old  Hippocrates,"  said  the  Doctor,  de 
lighted  at  Gale's  gift  of  speech,  for  he  had  heard  him 
discourse  only  on  "  hosses  "  when  he  was  with  us  the 
first  time,  "  you  'd  be  worth  three  thousand  dollars 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  235 

a  year  to  me  as  consulting  hygienist.  Do  you  want 
the  job?  " 

"  No."  He  spoke  decidedly.  "  This  job  's  good 
enough  fer  me.  I  hope  't  will  be  for  life  now." 

"  E wart's  colors  again,  eh,  Jamie?  "  He  turned 
to  Jamie  with  a  lift  of  his  eyebrows. 

"  Winning  all  along  the  course,  Doctor." 

"  How  do  you  know  all  that,  Cale?  "  The  Doctor 
dropped  his  charring  and  looked  over  earnestly  at 
Cale  beside  the  chimney-piece. 

"  Know  what?  " 

"  The  fact  that  those  special  ingredients  must  be 
mixed  in  a  good  home  to  prove  so  effectual  as  in 
Marcia's  case?  "  He  turned  to  examine  me. 

"  How  do  I  know  it?  "  He  spoke  slowly,  almost 
with  hesitation,  and  beneath  his  bushy  eyebrows  I 
thought  I  saw  a  suspicious  glitter  in  his  small  keen 
gray  eyes,  but  it  may  have  been  imagination.  "  I 
have  n't  always  been  a  lonely  man,  you  know  - 

"  That 's  just  what  I  don't  know,  Cale."  The  Doc 
tor  spoke  with  the  encouragement  of  good  fellowship, 
not  as  one  willing  or  wanting  to  ask  his  confidence, 
but  as  one  hoping  in  friendship  to  receive  it.  I  am 
sure  we  all  felt  with  the  Doctor  at  this  moment,  for 
Gale's  reticence  had  been  a  matter  of  concern  to  Jamie 
and  Mrs.  Macleod.  But  Jamie  had  respected  his 
silence. 

Cale  set  his  emptied  bowl  on  the  tray  and  sat  down 
again,  making  himself  comfortable  by  crossing  his 
legs.  He  heaved  a  sigh  of  satisfaction.  Mrs.  Macleod, 
Jamie  and  I  read  that  sign;  Cale  was  ready  to  expand 
a  little  more  in  the  cheerful  atmosphere  of  friends 
and  fireside.  We  three  knew  that  what  he  had  to 
retail  would  be  well  worth  hearing.  Jamie  settled 


236  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

himself  in  the  sofa  corner  as  usual.  The  Doctor  in 
sisted  on  carrying  the  tray  to  the  kitchen. 

"  Ah,  this  is  good,"  he  said,  seating  himself  by  me 
and  spreading  his  hands  to  the  blaze.  "  We  shan't 
be  interrupted,  and  the  rest  of  the  evening  is  ours. 
It 's  a  bitter  night,  too,  which,  by  contrast,  makes  this 
comfort  delectable." 

We  waited,  expectant,  for  Cale. 

"  You  've  been  wonderin'  now  fer  'bout  six  months, 
Mis'  Macleod,  you  an'  Jamie,  whether  I  was  a  mar 
ried  man  or  not,  now,  hain't  you?  "  He  smiled  as 
he  spoke,  the  creases  about  his  eyes  deepening 
slowly. 

Mrs.  Macleod,  with  an  embarrassment  we  all  en 
joyed  seeing,  moved  to  a  seat  beside  him;  saying 
gently,  if  deprecatingly: 

"  Yes,  I  could  n't  help  it,  Cale." 

"  How  could  you,  bein'  a  woman?  "  he  replied  as 
gently.  "  An'  you  too,  Marcia?  " 

"  Of  course;  don't  I  belong  to  the  weaker  sex?  But 
here  is  Jamie,  although  a  man  — 

"  Oh,  I  say,  Marcia,  that  's  not  playing  fair," 
Jamie  growled  at  me  as  if  indifferent;  but  I  knew  his 
curiosity  was  at  the  flood,  and  Cale  knew  it  too.  I 
feared  he  might  tease  without  satisfying. 

"  Yes,  I  'm  married,  Mis'  Macleod,  an'  it  seems  as 
if  I  'd  always  been  married." 

Jamie's  recent  remark  about  Gale's  being  a  widower, 
grass- widower,  divorce,  Mormon,  etc.,  came  back  to 
me,  and  I  could  hardly  keep  from  laughing  aloud  at 
Mrs.  Macleod's  look  of  dismay  and  amazement. 

"I  say  I'm  married,  fer  you  see  that  once  mar 
ried  is  always  married  with  me,"  he  repeated  em 
phatically. 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  237 

The  Doctor  nodded  approvingly.  "  No  uncertain 
note  about  that,  Cale." 

"  No  sir  —  ee,"  Cale  nodded  understandingly  at 
him  in  turn,  much  to  Jamie's  delight.  "  A  marriage 
when  it  is  a  marriage  —  'fore  God  an'  men,  an'  'fore 
the  altar  of  two  lovin'  hearts,  is  fer  good  —  fer  this 
world  anyway,  an'  fer  the  next  if  there  is  one.  'T  ain't 
often  you  can  come  acrosst  'em  now-a-days.  I  guess 
some  men,  put  it  to  'em  on  a  sudden,  could  n't  say 
under  oath  whether  they  was  married  or  single,  seein' 
this  divorce  business  mixes  things  up  worse  'n  a 
progressive  euchre  party.  I  'm  only  speakin'  fer 
myself,  mind  you,  an'  I  don't  set  up  fer  judgin' 
others." 

"  Good  for  you,  Cale!  Those  are  my  sentiments," 
said  the  Doctor  laughing  heartily  at  Gale's  idea  of 
the  "  progressive  euchre  party  ". 

"  It 's  what  keeps  me  young,"  Cale  continued  ear 
nestly;  "  fer  jest  the  thought  of  the  one  woman  I 
loved,  an'  love  now  with  all  the  love  thet  's  in  me, 
warms  me  jest  as  this  blaze  would  thaw  freezin'  sap; 
it  keeps  me,  as  you  might  say,  kinder  thawed  out  with 
folks,  an'  a  durned  cussed  tough  world." 

He  paused  a  moment  and,  leaning  forward,  clasped 
his  hands  around  his  crossed  knees.  I  had  seen  him 
do  this  only  when  he  was  bracing  himself  to  say  some 
thing  of  deep  significance.  He  faced  me  squarely, 
with  the  same  keen  look  that  I  detected  on  the  first 
night  of  my  arrival. 

"  I  Ve  been  wonderin',  Marcia,  if  you  did  n't  hail 
from  somewheres  near  my  place,  Spencerville,  in 
northern  New  England,  jest  over  the  line  —  though 
come  ter  think  of  it,  you  said  you  was  born  in  New 
York,  did  n't  you?  " 


238  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

Brought  to  bay  by  this  question,  put  to  me  suddenly 
without  warning,  I  brought  all  my  self  control  to  bear 
on  my  voice  and  answered: 

"  Yes,  I  was  born  there,  but  my  home  for  two  thirds 
of  my  life  was  in  the  vicinity  of  Spencerville." 

"  I  thought  so,"  said  Cale  almost  indifferently. 
"  You  had  a  way  with  you  like  the  folks  round  there 
—  not  that  I  know  any  of  your  generation,"  he  added 
hastily.  "  I  left  there  over  a  quarter  of  a  century 
ago.  Only,  now  and  then,  your  ways  take  me  back 
into  another  generation  where  my  wife  belonged,"  he 
said,  as  if  explaining  why  he  had  taken  the  liberty  to 
approach  me  with  the  direct  question.  I  forced  myself 
to  put  on  a  bold  front  and  ask: 

"  Who  was  your  wife,  Cale?  I  may  know  of  the 
family." 

"  I  have  my  doubts  about  thet,"  he  said  with  con 
siderable  emphasis.  "  Girls  of  your  age  ain't  apt  to 
know  of  folks  thet  lived,  an'  loved,  an'  --  I  was  goin' 
to  say  '  lost ',  but  she  ain't  never  thet  to  me,  'fore 
they  was  born.  My  wife's  name,  Marcia,  was  Morey, 
Jemimy  Morey  —  one  of  three  — 

"  Triplets?  Yes  marm,"  he  said,  in  reply  to  Mrs. 
Macleod's  look  of  surprise.  "  Job  Morey,  her  father, 
was  a  poor  man,  poor,  as  we  used  ter  say,  as  Job's 
turkey.  He  'd  had  a  hard  time,  no  mistake.  He  'd 
had  five  boys  ter  raise  on  a  farm  thet  was  half  rocks. 
Then  come  the  war  an'  the  two  oldest  had  ter  go.  The 
third  an'  fourth  was  drafted  an'  Job  hired  the  money 
to  pay  bounty;  but  the  cuss  turned  bounty  jumper 
an'  they  had  ter  go.  Thet  was  the  year  when  there 
was  a  bleedin'  heart  an'  a  rag  of  crape  in  most  every 
house  in  the  village.  Two  on  'em  come  home  ter 
die,  an'  the  t'  other  two  was  never  heard  from;  it 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  239 

most  killed  Aunt  Sally.    They  'd  had  poor  luck  with 
four  boys,  an',  by  George,  after  the  youngest  of  them 
five  was  fifteen  if  Aunt  Sally  did  n't  have  triplets  - 
gals  all  on  em ! 

"  Mother  said  half  the  women  in  the  village  was 
there  ter  help.  She  said  she  was  out  in  the  woodshed 
cuttin'  up  some  kindlin'  -  -  Job  never  was  known  ter 
be  forehanded  in  anythin'  —  an'  Job  come  out  the 
kitchen  end  without  seem'  her.  She  heard  him  give  a 
groan  an'  say,  all  to  himself  he  s'posed,  as  plain  as 
could  be:  'O  Lord,  three  more  mouths  ter  fill,  an' 
so  little  ter  fill  'em  with! '  Then,  turnin'  an'  seeing 
mother,  he  smiled  as  well  as  he  could  in  the  circum 
stances,  an'  tried  ter  put  a  good  face  on  it  by  sayin' : 

"  '  Well,  Aunt  Marthy,  I  ain't  got  all  the  material 
goods  thet  Old  Testament  Job  had,  but  I  Ve  got  one 
of  his  latter  day  blessings,  three  daughters,  an'  I  guess, 
if  Sally  don't  mind,  I  '11  name  'em  after  'em.' 

"  Thet  'show  they  come  by  their  names:  Keziah, 
Jemimy,  and  Keren-happuch,  which  was  the  most  out 
landish  name  fer  about  the  prettiest  baby,  mother 
said,  thet  ever  she  'd  set  eyes  on.  They  shortened  it 
to  '  Happy  '  mighty  quick. 

"  Aunt  Sally  who  'd  never  been  strong  sence  the 
girls  was  born,  broke  right  down  under  her  trouble, 
when  she  lost  her  last  boy,  and  never  rallied.  She  died 
when  the  girls  was  n't  more  'n  ten  year  old,  an'  after 
thet,  those  six  little  hands  worked  early  an'  late  to 
keep  the  house  for  their  father.  An'  they  kept  it  well 
too. 

"  Many  's  the  time  after  chores  was  done,  I  'd 
sly  over  to  Job's  to  fetch  wood  an'  carry  water  for 
the  sake  of  gettin'  a  smile  from  my  pet,  thet  was 
Jemimy  —  a  fair-skinned,  blue-eyed  little  thing  thet 


240  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

looked  as  if  a  breath  of  wind  would  blow  her  over.  I 
watched  her  grow  up  like  one  of  them  pink-and-white 
wind-flowers  thet  come  so  early  in  spring,  an'  I  used  ter 
pull  whole  basketfuls  for  her,  jest  ter  see  her  flush  up 
so  pleased  like,  an'  get  a  kiss  for  my  pains. 

"  I  was  ten  years  older  than  her  —  old  enough  ter 
know  what  would  happen  when  Jemimy  was  ten  years 
older  too.  She  growed  right  inter  my  life,  an'  I  growed 
right  inter  hers,  so  't  was  nat'ral  enough  when  she 
was  seventeen  for  us  ter  say  we  belonged  to  one  an 
other. 

"  Job  never  could  get  ahead,  and  the  farm  was  mort 
gaged  clear  up  to  the  handle.  I  had  n't  much  neither, 
for  I  had  mother  ter  support  and  worked  out  by  the 
month,  an'  Jemimy  said  't  was  no  time  ter  think  of 
gettin'  married;  we  'd  better  wait  till  we  could  get  a 
little  ahead.  She  said  she  'd  heard  of  a  place  in  the 
mills  down  Mass'chusettsway,an'  although  I  stood  out 
against  it,  she  had  set  her  heart  on  goin'  an'  earnin' 
a  little  extra,  an'  I  let  her  have  her  way.  Keziah 
married  jest  'bout  thet  time  a  poor  shote  of  a  feller, 
an'  went  out  West  with  him  on  ter  some  gov'ment 
lands.  Happy  was  ter  keep  the  house. 

"  Jemimy  promised  faithfully  ter  write,  an'  so  she 
did,  though  't  was  hard  work  after  mill  hours,  she  said, 
for  she  was  so  tired;  but  she  loved  me  too  well  to  have 
me  fret  an'  worry,  so  she  wrote  pretty  reg'lar  every 
two  weeks. 

"  She  'd  been  away  'bout  seven  months  an'  Job  was 
lookin'  like  a  man  with  some  backbone  in  him,  for 
half  of  Jemimy 's  pay  kept  comin'  reg'lar  an'  Happy 
made  every  thing  she  come  nigh  like  sunshine,  when  one 
evenin'  Job  come  over  an'  asked  me  how  long  it  had 
been  sence  I  heard  from  Jemimy.  '  Goin'  on  four 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  241 

weeks,'  says  I.  '  She  told  me  not  to  expect  much  this 
month  she  's  so  busy.' 

"  '  We  ain't  heard  for  six  weeks,'  says  Job,  '  an' 
t'other  night  I  had  a  dream;  't  war  n't  much  of  a 
dream  neither  —  only  I  can't  get  rid  of  it,  work  it 
off  nor  sleep  it  off,  neither.  S'posin'  you  write.' 

"  You  may  be  pretty  sure  I  did,  an',  not  gettin' 
an  answer,  I  drove  down  ter  the  nearest  station  an' 
sent  a  telegram,  an'  thet  not  gettin'  an  answer  neither, 
I  jest  put  myself  aboard  the  next  train  for  Lowell. 
Fust  time  I  'd  been  on  the  cars  too,  but  they 
could  n't  go  fast  enough  for  me. 

"  I  went  straight  ter  the  mill  she  'd  been  workin'  in, 
an'  asked  fer  the  boss.  Then  I  put  the  question  thet 
had  been  hangin'  round  me  like  a  nightmare  for 
twenty-four  hours  back. 

"  '  Can  you  tell  me  where  ter  find  Jemimy  Morey?  ' 

"  There  was  a  cur'ous  sort  er  smile  went  curlin' 
round  the  man's  lips  as  he  opened  a  great  ledger,  an' 
read  an  entry  thet  made  me  set  down  on  a  chair 
handy,  feelin'  weak  as  water: 

"  '  Entered  February  2.  — Left  July  19.' 

"  Thet  was  all,  but  't  was  enough. 

"  '  Where  's  she  gone  ter?  '  says  I. 

"  '  We  don't  keep  run  of  the  hands  after  they  Ve 
left  unless  they  go  ter  another  mill,  an'  she  ain't,'  says 
he,  clappin'  to  the  ledger  with  a  bang  thet  said  plain 
as  could  be,  '  Time  's  up.' 

"  '  I  guess  you  '11  have  ter  let  me  see  the  women,  fer 
it 's  a  life  an'  death  matter  ter  me ',  says  I,  fer  his 
drivin'  ways  madded  me,  an'  I  was  pretty  green  an' 
did  n't  know  as  much  as  I  might  have. 

"  The  strength  seemed  ter  come  floodin'  right  in  ter 
me  when  I  'd  said  thet,  and  I  guess  there  must  have 


242  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

been  a  kinder  '  knock-yer-down  '  look  in  my  eyes,  fer 
the  feller  sort  o'  winced  —  there  war  n't  but  us  two  in 
the  office  —  an'  said : 

"  'It 's  against  the  rules  an'  't  won't  do  no  good, but 
if  you  '11  feel  any  better  you  can  this  time.' 

"  You  see  I  thought  if  I  could  see  the  women,  I  'd 
ask  'em,  an'  p'raps  they  'd  know  'bout  her.  But, 
Lord!  when  I  see  thet  great  room  stretchin'  away  ter 
nothin',  an'  them  hundreds  of  girls  and  women 
a-workin',  tendin'  them  looms  as  if  their  life  de 
pended  on  them  wooden  bolts  shovin'  back'ards  an' 
for'ards  like  lightnin',  I  jest  set  down  on  the  first 
bench  I  come  ter  sicker  'n  death. 

"  A  great  wave  of  black  an'  a  wave  of  green  went 
through  the  room.  My  pulses  kept  time  to  the  rick- 
rack  of  the  flyin'  shuttles,  an'  my  head  swum  with 
the  dizzyin'  of  the  wheels  an'  the  pumpin'  of  the 
shafts. 

"  '  Good  God,'  I  thought,  '  is  this  the  place  she  's 
been  breathin'  out  her  sweet  life  in! ' 

"  I  tried  ter  think,  but  could  n't,  the  floor  jarred 
so  with  the  rumble  of  the  great  machines;  an'  the  air 
grew  as  thick  with  dust  as  a  barn  floor  in  threshin' 
time ;  an'  right  through  it  all,  a  scorchin'  August  sun 
burned  in  great  quiverin'  furrers;  an'  from  outside 
where  it  slanted  on  the  river  rushin'  through  the  mill- 
sluices,  it  sent  a  blindin'  reflection  whirlin'  an'  eddyin' 
along  the  glarin'  white  ceilin's  till  I  felt  like  a  drownin' 
man  bein'  sucked  under  .  .  . 

"  I  got  out  somehow,  fer  I  found  myself  on  the 
street.  I  went  ter  every  mill  in  the  place  —  an' 
might  have  spared  myself  the  trouble. 

"  Then  I  took  the  houses  by  rote,  askin'  at  each  one 
for  Jemimy  Morey.  Up  one  street,  down  another,  I 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  243 

went,  the  little  red  brick  boxes  lookin'  as  like  as  one 
honeycomb  ter  another;    most  of  'em  was  empty  - 
all  at  the  mills  except  the  old  women  and  babies ;    the 
fust  could  n't  give  me  no  kind  of  an  answer,  an'  the 
second  I  stumbled  over. 

"  It  was  gettin'  towards  six,  an'  I  war  n't  no  nearer 
findin'  what  I  'd  come  fer  than  when  I  started,  when 
I  heard  a  factory  bell  ringin'  an'  asked  what  it  meant. 
They  told  me  a  quarter  ter  six  an'  shuttin'  off  steam. 
I  started  on  a  dead  run  fer  the  little  footbridge  thet 
led  from  the  canal  alongside,  to  the  mill  gates.  There 
I  took  my  stand  jest  as  the  six  o'clock  whistle  blew 
and  the  great  mill  gates  was  hoisted,  an'  the  women 
an'  children  come  flockm'  out  an'  over  the  bridge. 

"  I  asked  every  squad  of  'em  —  they  could  n't  get 
by  me  without  answerin'  me  fer  't  was  only  a  foot 
bridge  —  if  they  knew  a  mill  hand  by  name  Jemimy 
Morey? 

"  For  five  minutes  I  got  pretty  much  the  same 
answer,  then  a  little  slip  of  a  gal  no  higher 'n  my  elbow 
says:  '  What  d  '  you  want  of  her?  You  can't  see  her 
for  she  's  up  at  Granny's  sick  of  the  fever,  an'  nobody 
dass  n't  go  near  her.' 

"  There  's  no  use  my  tellin'  you  how  I  found  her 
nor  what  we  said  —  only  't  war  n't  exactly  what  I  'd 
planned  all  through  hayin'  time  when,  noonin's,  I  'd 
stretch  out  in  the  shadder  of  a  hayrick  an',  buryin' 
my  face  in  the  coolin'  grass,  think  how  't  would  seem 
to  have  her  hand  strokin'  my  forehead  an'  smoothin' 
all  care  away  by  her  lovin'  ways. 

"  Jest  as  soon  as  she  was  strong  enough,  I  took  her 
home;  an'  without  much  ceremony,  she  sittin'  in  the 
arm-chair  an'  I  standin'  by  her  side,  we  was  made 
man  an' wife.  .  .  .  Oh,  we  was  happy!  an' thet  choice 


244  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

of  our  happiness,  for  we  both  knew  it  war  n't  for  long. 
I  've  sometimes  thought  we  took  out  a  mortgage  on 
our  future  bliss  we  was  so  happy.  .  .  .  Six  months 
from  the  day  I  took  her  home,  the  church  bell  tolled 
nineteen  —  an'  might  have  tolled  a  thousand  for  all  I 
heard." 


XX 


THERE  was  a  long  silence;   no  one  cared  to 
break  it.    As  for  me,  I  felt  as  if  stricken  dumb 
by  what  I  was  hearing.     I  knew,  intuitively, 
what  I  was  about  to  hear.     Mrs.  Macleod  put  her 
hand  on  Gale's  hard  brown  fist  as  it  lay  on  his  knee. 
I  am  sure  the  sympathetic  pressure  prolonged  the 
silence.    Doctor  Rugvie  and  Jamie  were  staring  into 
the  fire.    I  could  not  take  my  eyes  from  Gale's  face; 
I  was  as  if  fascinated.     He,  on  the  contrary,  never 
looked  once  my  way. 

His  voice  grew  husky  towards  the  last;  it  was  not 
till  he  had  cleared  his  throat  several  times  that  he 
could  speak. 

"  I  ain't  said  much  'bout  Happy,  —  that 's  short 
for  Keren-happuch,  the  name  she  always  went  by,  - 
but  she  was  the  fust  thing  I  took  any  interest  in  after 
thet.     My  wife  charged  me  over  an'  over  again  to 
look  out  fer  her,  an'  I  'd  begun  ter  think  't  was  time. 

"  There  ain't  no  telling  jest  what  Happy  was.  She 
war  n't  what  you  'd  call  real  harn'some,  not  at  fust; 
but  she  had  a  way  with  her  thet  was  winnin',  an'  a 
laugh  thet  always  put  me  in  mind  of  our  old  North 
Crick  in  August  when  it  goes  gurglin'  an'  winnerin' 
over  its  stony  bed.  She  had  a  smile,  too,  to  match 
the  laugh.  There  ain't  no  tellin'  what  she  was  like. 
She  was  jest  Happy,  an'  there  warn't  a  likely  chap 


246  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

this  side  of  the  border  and  t'  other,  thet  knew  her,  who 

had  n't  tried  ter  get  some  hold  on  her.    But 't  war  n't 

no  use;  she  jest  laughed  'em  off,  fust  one,  then  t'  other 

-  but  still  they  kept  tryin'  till  she  was  twenty-one. 

"  On  her  birthday  she  come  over  to  me  jest  'bout 
dusk  as  I  was  milkin'  in  the  shed,  —  I  can  see  her  now, 
standin'  by  old  Speckles'  head  an'  hangin'  on  tight  ter 
both  her  horns  as  if  fer  support  —  an'  turnin'  sudden 
ter  me  with  a  kind  o'  laugh,  thet  sounded  a  good  deal 
more  like  a  choked-down  sob,  she  says: 

"  '  Brother  Si.' 

"  My  name  is  Silas  C.,  but  when  I  left  what  used 
ter  be  home  ter  me,  I  war  n't  willin'  ter  have  strangers 
call  me  by  the  name  thet  belonged  ter  those  I  loved, 
so  I  Ve  been  Cale  to  all  the  rest  fer  a  good  many  years 
now. 

"  'Brother  Si,'says  she/ you  loved  my  sister;  won't 
you  tell  me  what  ter  do?  ' 

"  '  What 's  up?  '  says  I,  fer  I  could  n't  collect  myself 
she  come  on  me  so  sudden,  an'  I  knew  by  her  looks 
she  meant  business.  Then  she  blurted  it  all  out: 

"  '  George  Jackson  has  asked  me  to  marry  him  — 
an'  father  wants  me  to.  I  don't  know  whether  I 
ought  ter.'  She  wound  up  with  a  sigh. 

"  '  Why  not?  '  says  I,  fer  I  war  n't  master  enough 
of  my  feelin's  to  say  any  more. 

"  '  Well,  I  don't  know  exactly  —  only,  I  'm  afraid 
I  don't  love  him  as  I  'd  ought  ter.'  ' 

Cale  moved  uneasily.  He  leaned  his  elbows  on  his 
knees,  resting  his  chin  in  the  palms  of  his  hands. 
He  continued  in  a  lower  voice: 

"  May  the  Lord  forgive  me,  but  I  thought  I  was 
doin'  fer  the  best  to  argue  her  inter  thinkin'  she  loved 
him,  an'  if  she  did  n't,  then  she  would  after  marriage. 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  247 

An'  I'd  ought  'er  known  better!  I  ain't  never  fergiven 
myself  fer  meddlin'. 

"  George  Jackson  was  nigh  ter  me,  although  he  was 
born  in  Canady  an'  I  in  New  England.  His  farm  was 
a  border  one,  just  over  the  line.  There  was  about 
three  hundred  acres  of  extra  good  farmin'  land  and 
some  heavy  timber.  My  five  acres  was  on  the  border, 
too,  an'  many  a  time  we  've  clasped  hands  over  the 
old  stone  wall  on  our  boundary,  an'  I  've  said,  laughin' : 
'  Blood  's  thicker  'n  water,  boy!  ' 

"  I  used  ter  work  fer  him.  a  lot.  He  was  his  own 
master  for  he  was  an  orphan;  an'  I  had  mother,  an' 
thet  kinder  drew  us  closer,  fer  mother  mothered  him. 
There  war  n't  a  likelier  young  feller  anywheres  round. 
He  was  ten  years  younger  'n  me,  an'  I  'd  half  brought 
him  up  in  the  farmin'  line  —  proud  of  him,  too,  if  I  do 
say  it. 

"  There  war  n't  a  gal  in  our  village  or  out  of  it  fer 
a  good  many  miles  round  thet  had  n't  tried  fer  him 
but  Happy  —  an'  she  was  the  only  one  he  'd  ever  had 
eyes  fer.  Thet 's  the  way  it  mostly  goes  in  life.  He 
was  two  years  younger  'n  she  was  —  an'  smart !  He  'd 
been  through  the  Academy,  an'  would  have  made 
something  of  himself  besides  a  farmer  if  he  had  n't 
got  bewitched,  like  most  men  sometimes  in  their  lives, 
by  a  gal. 

"  I  'd  seen  which  way  the  wind  was  blowin'  fer  quite 
a  while,  but  kept  still,  fer  George  never  wanted  ter  be 
interfered  with,  an'  Happy  was  as  shy  as  a  wood 
thrush.  The  long  an'  short  of  it  is,  they  was  engaged, 
an'  Job  seemed  ter  think  his  luck  had  come  at  last. 
But  it  war  n't  so  with  Happy.  She  never  seemed  the 
same  after  thet.  She  kept  sayin'  she  wanted  ter  see 
a  little  more  of  the  world  before  she  settled  down. 


248  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

An',  sure  enough,  in  September  she  got  a  chance;  fer 
Keziah,  who  'd  lost  her  husband  an'  been  awful  sick 
with  chills  an'  fever,  come  back  ter  the  old  place,  an', 
as  there  war  n't  enough  fer  one  more,  Happy  teased 
Job  ter  let  her  go  down  with  a  neighbor's  gal  to  Boston 
an'  work  in  a  store  there.  '  Only  fer  a  little  while,'  she 
said. 

"  George  set  his  face  against  her  goin'  like  flint, 
tellin'  her  he  had  enough  fer  all.  But  I,  knowin'  what 
she  said  ter  me  thet  night  in  the  milkin'  shed,  advised 
him  ter  let  her  go  an'  have  her  way,  tellin'  him  she  'd 
be  all  the  happier  afterwards,  an'  be  contented  ter 
settle  down. 

"  Wai,  she  went,  an'  all  Job's  peace  of  mind  went 
with  her.  You  see  he  was  gettin'  on  in  years,  nigh 
on  ter  seventy-one,  an'  down  with  the  rheumatiz  all 
thet  winter  an'  spring.  The  next  July  he  come  down 
with  a  kind  of  typhus,  an'  they  sent  fer  Happy  ter 
come  home. 

"  The  minute  I  see  her,  I  knew  she  war  n't  the  same 
Happy  as  went  away.  She  wore  ear-jewels  an'  a 
locket,  an'  had  plenty  of  city  airs  and  ways;  but  the 
old  laugh  an'  smile  war  n't  all  there.  She  was  harn'- 
some,  though,  at  last!  Harn'some  as  a  picture,  an' 
nobody  blamed  George  fer  puttin'  up  with  what  he 
did  fer  the  sake  of  gettin'  her.  She  led  him  a  chase 
thet  summer.  She  give  him  every  chance  ter  break 
with  her;  but  he  would  n't,  an'  she  dass  n't,  fer  Job 
had  set  his  heart  on  the  match,  an'  was  thet  weak  an' 
childish  thet  he  kept  harpin'  on  their  marriage  from 
mornin'  till  night,  an'  thet  kept  up  George's  courage 
more  'n  anything  else.  So  things  went  on  fer  most 
two  months. 

"  One  afternoon,  late  in  September  —  I  shall  never 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  249 

ferget  the  day  fer  't  was  Sunday,  an'  it  seems  as  if  the 
Sabbath  was  the  devil's  own  day  after  all  —  George 
an'  me  took  the  team  ter  go  up  ter  the  north  pasture 
to  ketch  his  colts.  Word  had  come  down  thet  they  'd 
broke  loose  an'  needed  ter  be  tended  to  thet  very 
night;  so,  without  sayin'  nothin'  ter  nobody, fer  't  was 
only  our  own  business  if  we  did  go  on  Sunday,  we  set 
out. 

"  On  the  way  up  George  told  me  he  an'  Happy  was 
ter  be  married  the  next  week,  an'  I,  fer  one,  was 
mighty  glad  on  't,  fer  I  longed  ter  see  her  settled 
down  an'  like  herself  again. 

"  The  north  pasture  lays  up  over  the  hill  good  two 
mile  from  the  farm,  an'  when  we  'd  gone  'bout  half 
way,  George  reined  up,  an'  says: 

"  '  Let 's  hitch  the  team  here  an'  go  over  ter  the 
pasture  crosslots.  It  ain't  more  'n  half  as  fur,  an'  I  'm 
afraid  it  '11  get  too  dark  ter  hitch  'em  if  we  drive  round 
the  road.' 

"  '  All  right,'  says  I;  an'  we  set  off,  George  takin' 
the  five-rail  fences  at  one  bound  an'  walkin'  as  if  on 
air. 

"  He  was  jest  lettin'  down  the  bars  an'  callin' 
the  colts  by  name,  when  we  heard  a  team  comin' 
from  the  north.  Both  of  us  stopped  ter  listen  an' 
see  what  't  was,  fer  there  war  n't  but  one  road  over 
the  hill  on  the  north  side,  an'  thet  was  so  steep  it 
war  n't  travelled  many  times  a  year.  We  could  look 
right  down  the  slope  of  the  pasture  onter  the  road 
'bout  a  hundred  foot  below,  an',  in  a  minute,  a  team 
hove  in  sight  —  the  horse  followin'  pretty  much  his 
own  lead  an'  feelin'  his  way  down  as  best  he  could. 

'  There  was  a  man  an'  a  woman  in  the  buggy  pretty 
well  occupied  with  one  'nother,  fer  his  arm  was  round 


250  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

her,  an'  her  head  was  leanin'  on  his  shoulder.  Somehow 
I  did  n't  like  the  look  of  it,  an'  I  was  jest  turnin'  ter 
George  ter  say  so,  when  I  heard  sech  an  oath  from  his 
lips  as  gives  me  the  creeps  every  time  I  think  on  't. 

"  There  war  n't  no  time  ter  say  a  word,  fer  I  see 
what  he  see  jest  as  plain  as  the  sun  in  the  sky:  —  the 
woman  liftin'  her  face  a  little  an'  the  man  kissin'  her 
over  'n  over  again.  .  .  .  'T  was  Happy. 

"  '  Do  you  see  thet?  '  says  George,  turnin'  ter  me 
with  a  glare  like  a  madman. 

"  '  Yes,'  says  I,  fer  I  could  n't  get  out  another  word. 

"  '  You  lie! '  says  he, '  an'  if  you  say  thet  again  it  '11 
be  the  last  word  as  leaves  your  body  alive ! ' 

"  An'  with  thet  he  sprung  at  me  like  a  tiger,  an' 
the  Lord  only  knows  't  was  my  great  pity  fer  him  thet 
held  my  hand.  But  he  did  n't  touch  me  —  oh,  no! 
His  hand  dropped  as  if  it  had  been  shot,  an',  leanin' 
all  white  an'  quiverin'  up  against  the  fence,  he  dropped 
his  head  onter  his  folded  arms  an'  burst  inter  great 
sobs  thet  shook  the  rails.  It  was  like  one  of  them 
spring  freshets  thet  tears  up  the  face  of  nature,  an' 
I  knew  he  'd  be  the  better  fer  it,  fer  he  was  only  a  boy 
in  his  years,  if  he  was  a  man  in  his  love. 

"  '  You  ain't  goin'  ter  let  'em  go?  '  was  the  first 
words  I  could  muster  courage  to  say,  as  I  see  him 
turnin'  back  ter  the  pasture  bars  again. 

"  '  Yes,  I  'm  goin'  ter  let  them  go  —  ter  the  devil,' 
he  muttered,  between  his  teeth;  then,  turnin'  ter  me, 
as  cool  an'  calm  as  if  there  war  n't  a  woman  nor  a 
sarpent  in  the  world,  he  says: 

"  '  You  know,  Si,  there  's  the  colts  ter  be  ketched, 
an'  it 's  gettin'  late.' 

"An',  by  the  Lord  Harry,  they  was  ketched!  I 
never  see  sech  racin'  an'  tearin'  an'  rarin'!  He  was 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  251 

all  over  the  pasture  ter  once,  so  it  seemed,  headin' 
'em  off,  hangin'  on  ter  their  manes,  throwin'  himself 
astride  of  fust  one  then  'nother.  I  thought  the  old 
pasture  would  be  ploughed  ready  fer  spring  sowin', 
the  way  their  heels  tore  up  the  sod.  I  dass  n't  help 
him  fer  I  knew  the  madness  thet  had  been  on  him, 
an'  the  heat  he  was  in,  was  workin'  off  thet  way.  So 
I  kept  out  of  his  way,  an'  within  three  quarters  of  an 
hour  he  'd  got  those  four  colts  well  in  hand  an'  started 
fer  home. 

"  Mother  told  me  the  rest. 

"  '  Job  had  two  sinkin'  spells  thet  Sunday  after 
noon/  she  said,  '  an'  there  war  n't  a  drop  of  sperits  in 
the  house.  I  'd  used  up  the  last  of  the  elderberry 
wine,'  she  said,  '  an'  long  'bout  three  o'clock,  I  told 
Happy  she  'd  better  run  down  to  Seth  White's  an'  get 
some  brandy.  She  come  back  in  a  hurry  an'  said  he 
had  n't  a  drop  of  anything  in  the  house,  an'  she  'd  run 
down  to  the  Crick  House,  --  't  war  n't  more  'n  a  mile 
—  an'  get  some. 

"  '  Thet 's  the  last  I  see  of  her  till  half  past  eight/ 
said  mother,  '  an'  when  she  did  come  she  was  all  of  a 
shake.  She  said  she  'd  hurried  so,  an'  had  ter  wait  at 
the  tavern  till  they  'd  sent  down  ter  the  next  village. 
I  thought  't  was  kinder  queer/  mother  used  ter  say, 
'  fer  't  was  the  fust  time  I  'd  ever  known  the  Crick 
House  to  run  dry  of  a  Sunday. 

"  '  I  did  n't  say  nothin',  but  took  the  bottle  an' 
started  upstairs,  leavin'  her  settin'  there  on  the  settle. 
Job  was  ramblin'  some,  an'  Keziah  had  all  she  could 
do  to  keep  him  pacified.' 

"  George  and  me,"  -  Cale  interrupted  his  story 
to  explain  to  us,  —  "  had  moved  Job  over  inter  the 
north  chamber  over  the  kitchen,  fer  't  was  handier 


252  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

ter  tend  him  there ;  an'  all  the  cookin'  was  done  in  the 
woodshed.  But  you  could  hear  every  sound  in  the 
kitchen  plain  as  could  be. 

"  '  Job  was  jest  fallin'  asleep,'  mother  said,  '  when 
I  heard  George  come  in  through  the  woodshed  an' 
shut  the  door  with  a  bang  thet  pretty  nigh  raised  the 
roof,  an'  started  Job  off  again;  an'  I  jest  riz  up  out 
of  my  chair  ter  give  them  young  folks  a  piece  of  my 
mind  when,  all  of  a  suddin',  I  heard  Happy  cry  out 
sharp,  as  if  somebody  was  hurtin'  her: 

"<"0h,  don't  — don't!" 

"  '  Then  I  knew  there  was  trouble  brewin'.  I  held 
up  my  finger  ter  Keziah  ter  keep  still,  an'  slippin' 
down  the  back  stairs,  thet  led  inter  the  kitchen,  laid 
my  eye  to  the  crack  in  the  door  thet  was  part  open. 

"  '  I  could  see  Happy  crouchin'  on  the  settle  with 
both  hands  over  her  face,  an'  George,  standin'  over 
her,  had  laid  a  pretty  heavy  hand  on  her  shoulder. 

"  '  "  Who  was  thet  devil?  "  says  he,  in  a  hoarse 
voice  like  a  crow's-caw.  There  was  only  a  groan  fer 
answer. 

"  '  "  Tell  me  the  truth,"  says  he  with  a  great  shud- 
derin'  breath  thet  seemed  ter  go  down  clean  ter  his 
finger-tips,  fer  she  shook  like  a  leaf  under  the  power 
of  his  hands.  "  Are  you  fit  ter  be  my  wife?  " 

"  '  "  Fit  ter  be  your  wife!  "  she  shrieked,  and  with 
a  bound  thet  shook  his  hand  free  of  her  an'  left  her 
standin'  face  ter  face  with  him.  Then,  lif tin'  both  her 
round  white  arms,  she  opened  her  little  palms  upwards 
jest  as  if  ',  mother  said,  '  she  was  tryin'  ter  reach  the 
horns  of  the  altar,  an'  it  sounded  as  if  she  was  prayin' : 
"  As  there  's  my  mother's  God  in  heaven  above  me,  I 
am  clean  an'  fit  ter  be  your  wife,  George  Jackson,  an' 
the  wife  of  any  honest  man  livin',  an'  if  you  '11  take 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  253 

me,  knowin'  what  you  do  —  an'  you  've  seen  all  there 
was  of  harm  —  I  '11  marry  you  ter-morrow." 

"  '  Her  arms  dropped  by  her  side  as  if  she  had  n't 
a  mite  of  strength  left  in  her  body,  an'  she  looked 
at  him  with  a  look  thet  will  ha'nt  me  ter  my  dyin' 
day.' 

"  Mother  said:  '  If  I  'd  had  a  daughter,  I  'd  ruther 
laid  her  in  her  grave  than  seen  her  marry  any  man  with 
thet  look  on  her  face.' 

"  '  "  So  help  me  God,  Happy,  I  '11  save  you  from 
yourself  an'  marry  you  ter-morrow,"  says  George, 
slow  an'  solemn.  An'  at  those  words,  Job  riz  right  up 
in  bed  an'  hollered  "  Amen,  amen!  "  till  the  rafters 
rung.' 

"  Mother  's  told  me  the  story  over  'n  over  again, 
an'  always  in  them  same  words,"  said  Cale  thought 
fully.  "  She  used  ter  say  she  guessed  Happy  made 
a  clean  breast  of  it  to  George  after  hearin'  that 
'  Amen '. 

"  Sure  enough  they  was  married  the  next  day  - 
late  in  the  afternoon  —  when  Job  had  a  lucid  spell 
an'  cried  fer  joy.  '  I  can  leave  you  now,  Happy,'  was 
all  he  said  as  he  give  'em  his  blessin'.  When  night 
come  on  he  wandered  again.  Pie  'd  had  watchers 
more  'n  three  weeks,  an'  Keziah  was  all  tuckered  out, 
an'  mother  too.  I  said  I  'd  watch  thet  night,  but 
Happy  stuck  to  it  she  was  goin'  ter. 

"  '  But,  Happy  —  '  says  mother,  with  a  meanin' 
look  an'  smile. 

"  '  I  know,  Aunt  Marthy.'  She  answered,  sorter 
hesitatin' ;  then,  settin'  the  bowl  of  porridge  she  had 
in  her  hand  down  on  the  table,  she  beckoned  mother 
out  inter  the  shed  an',  shuttin'  the  door  tight,  flung 
her  arms  round  mother's  neck  an'  begged  her  ter 


254  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

speak  ter  George,  an'  ask  him  ter  let  her  watch  jest 
this  one  night  with  her  father. 

"  '  He  can't  deny  me  thet,  Aunt  Marthy,  an'  if 
you  had  a  daughter  placed  as  I  am,  would  n't  you  do 
as  much  fer  her?  ' 

"  Mother  said  she  'd  never  ferget  the  scairt  look 
on  the  girl's  face,  nor  the  feel  of  her  two  hands,  like 
chunks  of  ice,  round  her  neck. 

"  '  My  heart  ached  fer  her,'  mother  said,  '  an'  I 
told  her  I  'd  speak  ter  George,  an'  I  knew  't  would  be 
all  right.' 

"  An'  so  't  was.  He  was  only  too  glad  to  do  any 
thing  fer  her  ter  make  her  feel  easier  in  her  mind;  he  said 
he  'd  stretch  out  on  the  sofy  in  the  parlor,  so  as  to  be 
on  hand  if  they  wanted  him. 

"  Mother  set  up  till  twelve,  an'  then  Happy  brought 
her  up  a  steamin'  bowl  of  catnip  tea. 

"  '  Take  it,  Aunt  Marthy,'  she  said,  coaxin',  '  it  '11 
do  you  good.' 

"  '  Bless  your  thoughtful  little  soul,'  says  mother, 
an'  gulped  it  down  as  innercent  as  a  lamb." 

At  this  point  Cale  rose,  with  one  stride  reached  the 
fireplace  and  gave  the  backlog  a  mighty  kick  that 
sent  the  sparks  in  showers  up  the  chimney;  then, 
seating  himself  again,  he  went  on  in  a  hard  unyielding 
voice : 

"  I  ain't  made  up  my  mind  whether  I  've  fergiven 
her  or  not.  I  s'pose  I  have,  seein'  what  the  gal  must 
have  suffered  after  thet;  but  it  was  my  innercent 
lovin'  mother  —  an'  how  she  could  have  done  it  beats 
all  creation!  But  she  was  desp'rit. 

"  George  got  up  twice  in  the  night,  but  all  was 
quiet.  He  even  walked  round  the  house  an'  stood 
under  the  winder,  hopin',  as  he  told  me  afterwards,  to 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  255 

see  her  shadder  on  the  curtain.  The  second  time  he 
went  out,  he  saw  her  pull  aside  the  square  of  cotton 
an'  look  out.  It  was  nigh  mornin'  then  and  the  lamp 
still  burnin'.  'Bout  half  after  five  he  crept  out  in  his 
stockin'  feet,  milked,  an'  turned  the  cows  out;  then  he 
come  back,  laid  down,  an'  just  after  daybreak  shet  his 
eyes  fer  the  first  time. 

"  When  he  woke  it  was  'bout  eight  o'clock,  an'  still 
nary  a  sound  in  the  house,  fer  Keziah  had  n't  nothin' 
on  her  mind,  'cause  mother  took  it  all  off.  Again  he 
slipped  out  of  doors  an'  see  a  dull  red  spot  on  the 
curtain;  it  looked  as  if  the  light  was  burnin'.  He 
thought  she  'd  fallen  asleep.  On  thet,  he  creeps  up 
the  back  stairs  an'  looks  inter  the  chamber.  There 
was  mother  stretched  out  on  the  cot  unconscious,  her 
face  as  white  an'  drawn  as  the  square  of  cotton  beside 
it.  Job  was  breathin'  heavy  in  the  bed;  the  lamp  was 
smellin'  with  the  vilest  smell  and  —  Happy  was 
gone." 

"  Gone!  "  Jamie  echoed. 

"  Yes,  gone  fer  good  —  an'  ter  this  day  I  can't 
quite  make  up  my  mind  whether  I  've  fergiven  her 
or  not. 

"  Mother  come  to  in  something  less  than  half 
an  hour  and  before  the  doctor  got  there.  We  braced 
her  up  with  a  pint  of  strong  coffee,  an',  natcherly, 
she  could  n't  remember  nothing  after  she  'd  took  the 
catnip  tea  —  and  the  laudanum. 

"  George  rode  right  an'  left  to  get  track  of  her, 
or  rather  them,  fer  we  all  knew  there  was  a  man  in  the 
case  after  what  we  see.  He  telegraphed  ter  them  big 
cities,  an'  hired  detectives  fer  the  dirty  work;  but  they 
could  n't  get  no  clew.  The  folks  at  the  Crick  House 
said  there  'd  been  a  man  there  sketchin',  but  they 


256  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

had  n't  seen  him  sence  Sunday  night,  when  he  left 
on  foot.  The  gal,  they  said,  had  n't  been  near  the 
house,  an'  Seth  White  told  mother,  it  was  he  give  her 
the  brandy  himself;  so  you  can  make  what  you  can 
of  it. 

"  '  I  'm  her  husband,  an'  she  belongs  ter  me/  was 
all  George  would  say,  when  we  tried  to  make  him  give 
her  up  an'  git  a  bill  of  divorce. 

"  Wai,"  said  Cale  sententiously,  looking  hard  at 
the  Doctor,  "  there  's  two  ways  of  lookin'  at  thet, 
but  it  took  him  some  time  ter  see  it;  an'  it  war  n't 
till  he  'd  travelled  fer  four  months,  east,  north,  south, 
an'  west  as  fur  as  the  Rockies,  thet  he  come  home 
an'  settled  down  to  farmin'  again;  but  it  would  n't 
work.  He  war  n't  the  same  man;  lost  his  interest, 
an'  was  lettin'  tilings  go  ter  the  dogs.  He  never  took 
ter  drink,  thet  I  know  of.  But  there  war  n't  no  use 
talking  ter  him.  He  was  his  own  master  an'  would  n't 
be  interfered  with. 

"  It  might  have  been  nine  months  after  he  'd  come 
home,  mebbe  't  was  a  year,  I  don't  remember,  when 
he  come  to  me  one  day  with  a  telegram  in  his  hand  — 
it  had  come  up  on  the  stage  —  an'  handed  it  to  me 
with  the  face  of  a  man  ready  ter  face  death  or  of  a 
dead  man  jest  come  ter  life,  I  could  n't  say  which. 

"  '  Read  it,'  says  he,  shakin'  like  a  man  in  drink; 
'  I  can't.'  An'  I  read: 

"  '  I  am  dyin'  and  alone  among  strangers;  will  you 
come  to  me  fer  the  sake  of  my  child.'  There  was  an 
address  thet  made  George  groan,  fer  he  'd  been  all  over 
thet  great  Babel  of  New  York,  an'  knew  jest  the  kind 
of  place  she  was  in. 

"  Wai,  he  went;  an'  three  days  afterwards  he  come 
home  with  the  dead  body  of  the  woman,  as  was 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  257 

his  wife  an'  yet  was  n't  —  jest  accordin'  as  you  look 
at  it  —  an'  a  live  child  thet  was  hers  an'  not  his  'n, 
whichever  way  you  look  at  it. 

"  Sech  things  ain't  nothin'  new  to  you,  I  s'pose?  " 
Cale  turned  to  the  Doctor. 

"  What  became  of  the  man?  "  said  the  Doctor, 
without  answering  his  question.  During  this  recital 
his  eyes  never  left  Gale's  face. 

"  Dunno." 

"  You  don't  know !  What  do  you  mean  by  that, 
Cale?  "  said  Jamie. 

"  I  mean,"  he  answered  slowly,  "  thet  George  Jack 
son  never  did  nothin'  by  halves.  He  come  ter  me  one 
day  —  the  day  after  the  funeral  —  an'  said  he  was 
goin'  away.  An'  he  did;  sold  out  an'  went  away." 

"  Did  the  child  live?  "  Doctor  Rugvie's  voice 
broke  the  silence  somewhat  sharply.  I  caught  the 
flight  of  his  thought;  I  am  sure  Jamie  did  also. 

"  Yes,  lived  ter  be  a  blessing  ter  all  she  come  nigh. 
She  war  n't  more  'n  three  days  old  when  he  brought 
her  home  to  Keziah.  Happy  was  dead  when  he  found 
her;  more 'n  thet  he  never  told  us.  He  left  something 
for  them  with  Lawyer  Green  —  he  told  me  he  should 
do  it.  They  lived  on  thet  in  part;  it  helped  ter  support 
'em,  fer  they  was  in  a  tight  place.  Thet  was  how  Job's 
luck  came  at  last,  poor  soul  —  little  enough  it  was. 
He  kept  on  fer  years,  I  heard,  but  was  always  weak- 
minded  after  he  was  told  what  had  happened.  They 
said  he  always  used  ter  call  the  baby  '  Happy ',  an' 
could  n't  bear  her  out  of  his  sight.  Then,  when  she 
was  'bout  fourteen,  he  turned  against  her,  an'  kept 
thinkin'  it  was  Happy  herself;  kept  harpin'  on  her 
marriage  to  George,  an'  flingin'  of  what  she  'd  done 
inter  her  face,  till  the  child  could  n't  stand  it  no  more, 


258  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

She  never  knew  the  whole  truth,  they  said,  till  she  was 
fifteen;  then  somebody  was  willin'  ter  tell  her" 
Cale  smiled  grimly  —  "  as  they  see  it,  an'  it  'bout 
finished  what  Job  begun.  I  heard  she  never  tasted 
a  morsel  of  food  for  two  days.  The  last  I  heard  about 
her  was,  she  was  keepin'  the  district  school.  It 's  been 
most  ten  years  now  sence  I  heard  anything;  you 
don't  often  meet  a  man  from  our  way  up  in  Manitoba 
or  the  river  basin  of  British  Columbia,  an'  I 
never  was  no  hand  at  writin'.  Sometime  I  mean  ter 
look  her  up.  I  ain't  been  able  ter  do  fer  her  as  I  'd 
ought  ter,  fer  I  had  bad  luck  fer  too  many  years  — 
them  pesky  western  wildcat  banks  cleaned  me  out 
twice." 

"  By  what  name  was  the  child  christened?  "  asked 
the  Doctor. 

"  Never  was  christened  thet  I  know  of." 

"  Oh,  Cale,  if  only  they  had  been  happier!  "  It  was 
Jamie  who  spoke  with  almost  a  groan. 

"  Wai,  thet 's  the  mystery  of  it,"  was  his  quiet 
answer.  Gathering  his  loose-jointed  frame  together, 
he  rose.  "  Guess  I  '11  go  an'  look  after  the  bosses; 
it 's  goin'  ter  be  a  skinner  of  a  night."  At  the  door 
he  turned. 

"  I  know  I  ain't  told  you  nothin'  livenin',  but  it 's 
life,  an'  I  could  n't  tell  it  no  other  way.  It  ain't  jest 
the  thing  ter  air  fam'ly  troubles,  but  it 's  all  past; 
an'  what  I  've  told,  I  Ve  told  ter  my  friends,  an'  I  '11 
thank  you  ter  let  what  I  Ve  said  be  'twixt  us  four." 

We  sat  in  silence  for  a  while  after  he  had  left  the 
room.  I  was  wondering  how  I  could  make  excuse  to 
get  away  from  them  all,  get  away  by  myself  and  have 
it  out  with  myself,  when  Jamie  broke  the  silence: 

"  Doctor  Rugvie,  I  Ve  been  putting  two  and  two 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  259 

together.  You  know  what  you  told  us  the  last  time 
you  were  here  about  that  New  York  episode?  Do 
you  suppose  Gale's  story  is  the  key  to  that?  " 

"  Possibly  it  might  be,  if  those  episodes  were  not  of 
common  occurrence  —  there  are  so  many  all  the 
time." 

"  I  know;  but  this  fitted  in  almost  every  detail. 
I  would  n't  ask  him  how  long  ago  all  this  happened." 

"  Nor  I,"  was  the  Doctor's  reply,  and  his  answer 
gave  a  glimpse  of  his  thought.  "  I  will  when  it  comes 
right." 

"  Dear  old  Cale,"  I  murmured.  I  felt  it  incumbent 
on  me  to  say  something,  lest  my  unresponsiveness  be 
noticed. 

The  Doctor  rose  and  took  a  cigar  from  the  box  on 
the  mantel,  saying  almost  to  himself : 

"  '  There  may  be  heaven,  there  must  be  hell, 
Meantime  there  is  our  earth  here  —  well ! ' 

"  Good  night,  Mrs.  Macleod,  good  night,  Boy  —  Mar- 
cia,  good  night." 

He  spoke  in  his  usual  voice,  but  with  noticeable 
abruptness. 


XXI 

SO  Cale  knew.  This  was  my  first  thought  when  I 
found  myself  alone  in  my  room.  Cale,  then, 
was  the  husband  of  my  mother's  sister,  Jemima 
Morey,  who  died  before  I  was  born,  whose  name  I  had 
heard  but  two  or  three  times.  My  Aunt  Keziah's 
mind  grew  dull  in  the  strain  of  circumstance;  she 
was  never  given  a  full  supply  of  brains,  and  her  mem 
ory  weakened  as  she  aged.  Had  she  lived,  —  I  shud 
dered  at  the  thought,  —  she  would  have  been  imbe 
cile  like  my  grandfather  and,  doubtless,  have  lived  to 
his  age,  ninety.  In  that  case  there  would  have  been 
no  life  for  me  here. 

"  But  I  am  here.  I  am  going  to  remain  here  till  I 
am  sent  away.  Nothing  that  Cale  has  said  shall  in 
fluence  me  in  this.  All  that  is  past  —  a  part  of  an 
other  generation.  I  have  put  it  all  out  of  my  life, 
once  and  for  all.  I  live  now  and  here,  in  Lamoral. 
I  am  not  my  mother;  I  am  Marcia  Farrell.  I  have  not 
her  life  to  answer  for,  and  her  life  — -  oh,  what  she 
must  have  suffered !  — •  shall  no  longer  influence  mine. 

"  I  am  free!  I  declare  myself  free  from  the  bondage 
of  past  memories,  free,  and  I  will  to  remain  so." 

This  was  my  declaration  of  independence  —  inde 
pendence  of  heredity  and  its  accredited  influence;  of 
memories  that  control  the  mentality  which  governs 
Hfe;  freedom  from  the  actuality  of  past  environment. 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  261 

I  drew  a  long  free  breath.  My  individual  woman 
hood,  this  "  I  "  of  me,  Marcia  Farrell,  not  a  composite 
of  ancestral  inheritance,  asserted  itself. 

What  if  my  nose  resembles  my  great-grandmoth 
er's?  I  asked,  unfurling  my  revolutionary  flag  over 
the  moat  —  untechnically  "  ditch  "  —  of  the  strong 
hold,  considered  by  some  impregnable,  of  present  day 
scientific  discovery. 

What  if  I  happen  to  have  a  temper  like  my  maternal 
great-aunt's?  What  if  I  have  a  fighting  instinct  like 
my  paternal  ancestors,  who  may  have  come  over  with 
William  the  Conqueror  as  swordsmen  or  cooks —  I 
don't  care  which? 

What  if  I  handle  my  crochet  needle  in  a  manner 
very  like  the  brandished  spear  of  Goths,  Vandals, 
and  Huns,  from  all  of  whom  it  is  perfectly  possible 
that  I  may  count  my  descent? 

What  if  I  show  distinctive  animal  characteristics? 
Jamie  declares  I  run  like  a  doe  and  look  like  a  grey 
hound! 

What  do  I  care  if,  millions  of  years  ago  when  things 
on  this  earth  were  stickier  and  hotter  than  the  worst 
dog-day  in  New  York,  this  thing  that  has,  in  the  end, 
become  Marcia  Farrell,  this  half-perfected  mechan 
ism  of  body  and  mind,  had  gills  like  a  fish?  What  do 
I  care  if  it  had? 

This  "  I  "  of  me  is  distinct  from  every  other  "  I  " 
on  this  inhabited  globe.  This  "  I  "  of  me  has  its 
special  work  to  do,  not  another's,  not  my  ancestors'. 
Humble  enough  it  is.  It  has  to  feed  and  clothe  my 
body  by  labor,  the  brain  regulating  the  handicraft. 
It  has  eyes  to  see  all  the  beauty,  all  the  ugliness  of 
Life;  ears  to  hear  all  its  harmonies,  all  its  discords; 
a  mind  to  comprehend  how  some  detail  of  chaos  may 


262  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

find  rebirth  in  order.  This  "  I  "  of  me,  my  soul,  re 
ceives  through  the  instruments  of  the  senses,  impres 
sions  of  infinite  chaos  ordered  into  laws,  not  necessarily 
final,  laws  beneficial  to  man  and  his  universe.  —  Am  I 
to  deny  the  existence  of  what  is  called  the  strange 
unknown  ether,  simply  because,  for  ages,  the  instru 
ment  of  the  wireless  was  not  on  hand  to  give  expres 
sion  to  its  transmitting  power? 

I  repeated  to  myself,  that  I  had  my  own  lif e  to  live, 
not  my  mother's  —  oh  God,  forbid!  Not  my  grand 
father's  —  oh,  in  mercy  not!  Not  my  myriad  of  an 
cestors'  lives;  were  this  so,  the  mechanism  of  the  brain 
would  give  under  the  strain.  But  just  my  own,  mine, 
Marcia  FarrelPs,  here,  from  day  to  day  in  Lamoral; 
a  life  lived  in  thankfulness  of  spirit  for  a  shelter  that 
is  a  home;  in  thankfulness  for  the  modicum  of  intel 
lect  —  with  its  accompanying  physical  fitness  —  that 
enables  me  to  earn  my  living;  in  thankfulness  for 
friends;  in  thankfulness  —  yes,  I  dare  say  it,  even  in 
the  shadow  of  Gale's  story  of  my  mother's  short  life 
-  that  I  love,  that  I  can  love. 

This  is  the  full  text  of  my  declaration  of  inde 
pendence,  made  at  twelve  of  the  clock,  —  I  heard  it 
striking  in  the  kitchen  below,  —  on  the  night  of 
the  twentieth  of  February,  nineteen  hundred  and 
ten. 

From  that  hour,  I  lost  all  desire  to  know  my  parent 
age,  to  question  Doctor  Rugvie,  to  see  the  papers;  all 
desire  to  establish  the  fact  that  I  was  a  legitimate 
child.  And  I  lost  it  because  a  greater  interest,  the 
dominating  interest  of  love,  was  claiming  all  my 
thoughts,  ruling  my  desires,  regulating  my  wishes. 
My  hour  had  struck  and,  knowing  it,  I  regulated  my 
clock  by  Mr.  Ewart's  timepiece,  which  is  another 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  263 

way  of  saying  I  lived,  henceforth,  not  only  in  his  home, 
but  in  him  and  his  interests. 

All  that  Cale  told  us  I  had  known  in  part,  but 
never  had  I  known  the  circumstances  in  detail,  freed 
from  the  accumulation  of  gossip.  Now,  with  Delia 
Beaseley's  relation  of  my  birth  and  its  attendant 
circumstances,  the  account,  except  on  two  points, 
seemed  complete.  On  one,  I  intended  to  ask  explana 
tion  from  Cale,  when  an  opportunity  offered;  in  the 
second  matter,  the  identity  of  my  father,  I  took  no 
interest.  But  to  Cale  I  would  speak.  Dear  old  Cale! 
Had  he  known  me  all  these  months?  Why  had  n't 
he  spoken  to  me  and  told  me? 

As  I  thought  it  over,  I  saw  that  I  had  given  him 
no  opportunity  to  question  me,  or  to  speak  to  me, 
concerning  his  surmise.  He  should  have  it  soon  — 
and  again  look  me  squarely  in  the  eyes.  Dear  old 
Cale! 

It  was  noticeable  the  next  day,  that  the  Doctor 
was  fairly  well  occupied  with  his  own  thoughts.  Dur 
ing  the  hour  in  which  I  took  my  first  lesson  with  skis, 
I  caught  him,  more  than  once,  looking  at  me  as  if 
searching  for  enlightenment  on  some  subject,  or  ob 
ject,  projected,  obscure  and  undefined,  from  his  con 
sciousness.  My  own  high  spirits  were  seemingly  in 
explicable  to  him.  How  could  he  know  that  my 
elation  was  due  to  the  fact,  that  the  express  from  Mon 
treal  would  arrive  in  eight  hours! 

"  Cale,"  he  said  abruptly,  while  helping  me  out  of 
some  particularly  awkward  floundering,  "  when  does 
the  mail  leave  the  house  for  the  south  bound  trains?  " 

"  We  caPlate  ter  get  it  off  'bout  noon;  little  Pete 
takes  it  over." 

The  Doctor  looked  $t  his  watch.    "  Sorry,  Marcia, 


264  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

to  cut  short  this  fun,  especially  after  my  urgent  invi 
tation,  but  I  must  get  some  letters  off  by  that  mail. 
We  '11  try  it  again  to-morrow." 

"  Don't  mind  me,  but  I  don't  want  to  go  in;  it  's 
great  sport,  the  best  yet.  Cale,  you  can  stay  a  little 
longer,  can't  you?  " 

"  To  be  sure;  I  ain't  nothing  special  on  hand  fer 
the  rest  of  the  forenoon." 

"  Then  I  '11  cut  and  run,"  said  the  Doctor,  without 
ceremony  and  evidently  pressed  for  time.  He  "  cut  " 
accordingly,  his  skis  carrying  him  down  the  incline 
with  what  seemed  to  me  dubious  velocity. 

I  turned  to  Cale  and  gave  him  my  mittened  hand. 
He  guided  me  well  and  carefully.  I  landed,  rather  to 
my  own  surprise,  right  side  up.  I  was  well  pleased 
with  this  progress;  in  all  conditions  of  my  partial 
equilibrium,  I  found  the  sport  exciting. 

"  You  don't  look  like  the  same  gal  I  drove  up  from 
the  steamboat  landing  thet  night  four  months  ago." 
He  looked  down  at  me  admiringly  from  his  great 
height.  "  Your  cheeks  are  clear  pink  and  white,  and 
your  eyes  shine;  who  'd  ever  think  they  was  the 
faded  out  brown  ones,  with  great  black  hollers  under 
'em,  thet  I  see  lookin'  'round  to  find  out  what  kind  of 
a  God's  country  you  was  in?  " 

"  I  like  your  compliments.  Tell  me,  Cale,"  •  —  I 
smiled  straight  up  into  his  rugged  face,  in  order  to  get 
a  look  at  the  small  keen  gray  eyes  beneath  the  bushy 
eyebrows  —  "  how  did  you  come  to  think  it  was  I  ? 
Tell  me." 

The  tanned  cheeks  above  the  whiskers  looked  sud 
denly  rather  yellow.  I  could  n't  see  his  mouth  for  the 
frosted  beard,  but  I  saw  his  eyes  fill.  The  hand  that 
was  still  holding  mine  to  help  me  up  the  incline,  tight- 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  265 

ened  its  clasp.     He  hesitated  a  moment  before  he 
could  answer: 

"  I  did  n't  know,  Marcia,  not  for  plumb  sure;  an' 
yet  I  felt  sure,  for  you  was  the  livin'  image  of  Happy 
Morey." 

"  Am  I  so  very  like  her  —  in  all  ways?  " 

"  Like  her  in  looks,  all  but  the  eyes;    they  're  dif 
ferent.    But  you  ain't  much  like  her  in  your  ways  — 
she  was  what  you  might  call  winnin'er;    you  have 
ways  of  your  own." 

"  Did  you  open  the  windows  of  your  life  so  wide  for 
us  last  night,  Cale,  just  to  entice  me  to  fly  in  and 
find  refuge  with  you?  " 

"  Marcia,"  his  voice  trembled  slightly,  "  I  stood  it 
jest  as  long  as  I  could.  I  knew  you  did  n't  know  me 
from  Adam ;  but  I  felt  as  if  I  could  n't  live  another 
day  in  the  house  with  you,  'thout  makin'  myself  known 
ter  you;  an'  I  took  thet  way  ter  do  it  an',  meanwhile, 
satisfy  somebody's  curiosity  'bout  me,  fer  Jamie  can't 
be  beat  by  any  woman  for  thet.  I  did  n't  go  off  half- 
cock  though,  last  night,  you  may  bet  your  life  on 
thet." 

"  I  know  you  did  n't,  Cale  —  and  can't  we  keep  this 
between  ourselves?  " 

"  Jest  as  you  say,  Marcia.  What  you  say  ter  me 
won't  go  no  further.  There  ain't  no  one  nigher  to  me 
than  you  in  all  this  world  — 

"  Nor  than  —  "  I  began.  I  was  about  to  say,  "  than 
you  to  me  ";  but  I  cut  short  the  words  that  would 
have  perjured  the  new  joy  in  my  heart. 

Cale  apparently  took  no  notice  of  the  unfinished 
sentence. 

"  Sometime  I  want  ter  know  'bout  your  life  these 
last  ten  years  —  I  can't  sorter  rest  easy  till  I  know." 


266  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

"  There  is  so  little  to  tell.  Aunt  Keziah  died  eight 
years  ago;  then  I  went  down  to  New  York  to  earn 
my  living,  and  worked  there  till  I  came  here  —  on  a 
venture." 

"  It 's  the  best  you  ever  made,"  he  said  emphati 
cally.  "  Get  sick  of  it  there?  " 

"  Yes,  I  should  have  died  if  I  'd  stayed  in  that  city 
any  longer;  it  was  too  much  for  me." 

I  felt  his  hand  grasp  mine  still  more  closely. 

"So  'twas,  so  'twas,"  he  said  to  himself;  then 
to  me: 

"  Guess  we  won't  lose  track  of  one  'nother  again, 
Marcia." 

"  Not  if  I  can  help  it,  Cale;  it  is  n't  my  fault  that 
we  see  each  other  for  the  first  time  in  twenty-six 
years." 

"  So  't  ain't,  so  't  ain't,  poor  little  soul."  I  heard  a 
catch  in  his  voice,  but  I  did  not  spare  him. 

"  How  old  was  I  when  you  left  home?  " 

"  'Bout  three  months,  if  I  remember  right." 

"  Did  you  ever  see  me  —  then?  " 

"  No." 

"  You  did  n't  have  any  interest  in  me?  " 

"  Not  much,  I  '11  own  up."  Then  he  added  weakly, 
for  he  wanted  to  spare  me  the  truth  by  gently  lying 
out  of  it,  "I  've  heard  men  don't  take  to  new-born 
babies  as  women  do;  they  're  kinder  soft  ter  handle." 

"  And  you  saw  me  for  the  first  time  in  my  life  at  the 
steamboat  landing?  " 

"  Yes  —  an'  my  knees  fairly  give  way  beneath  me, 
for  I  saw  Happy  standin'  before  me  an'  speakin'  in 
the  voice  I  remember  so  well." 

"  A  long  while,  twenty-six  years,  Cale?  " 

"  Don't,  Marcia,  don't  rub  it  in  so!  "    He  was  half 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  267 

resentful;  and  I,  having  brought  him  to  this  point, 
was  satisfied  to  relent. 

"  Cale,"  I  said,  withdrawing  my  hand  and  facing 
him,  as  well  as  I  could  with  my  new  foot  appendages 
to  steer,  "  I  '11  forgive  you  for  not  paying  any  attention 
to  me  for  twenty-six  years,  on  one  condition  — 

"  What  is  thet?  "  His  eagerness  was  almost  pa 
thetic. 

"  That  you  '11  take  me  for  just  what  I  am,  who  I 
am,  Marcia  Farrell  —  not  Happy  Morey;  if  you 
don't  I  shall  be  unhappy.  And  you  're  to  love  me  for 
myself,  do  you  hear?  Just  for  myself,  and  not  be 
cause  I  'm  the  living  image  of  my  mother.  Now  don't 
you  forget.  I  give  you  warning,  I  shall  be  insanely 
jealous  if  you  love  me  for  anybody  but  myself  —  and 
I  take  it  for  granted  you  do  love  me,  don't  you, 
Cale?  " 

"  You  know  I  do,  Marcia." 

I  had  him  at  my  mercy  and  I  was  merciful. 

"  Well,  then,  if  I  did  n't  have  all  this  paraphernalia 
on  my  feet,  I  would  venture  to  throw  my  arms  around 
your  neck  and  give  you  a  good  hug  —  Uncle  Cale. 
As  it  is  I  might  flop  suddenly  and  fall  upon  your 
breast." 

"  Guess  I  could  stand  it  if  you  did,"  —  he  smiled 
happily,  the  creases  around  his  eyes  deepening  to 
wrinkles,  — "  but  'twixt  you  and  me,  this  ain't 
exactly  the  place  nor  the  weather  for  any  pala- 
verin'  - 

"  Palavering!  Well,  you  are  ungallant,  Cale;  I 
don't  dare  to  call  you  '  Uncle  '  now,  for  fear  I  might 
make  a  slip  before  the  entire  family,  and  that  would 
complicate  matters,  would  n't  it?  " 

"  Guess  't  would,"  he  replied  earnestly;   "  compli- 


268  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

cate  'em  in  a  way.  't  would  take  more  'n  a  lawyer's  wits 
ter  uncomplicate." 

"  Then  let 's  go  home  and  see  what  the  Doctor  is 
doing." 

"  He  's  great!  " 

"  Wait  till  I  tell  you  sometime  a  secret  about  him 
—  and  me:  you  '11  think  he  is  greater." 

"  You  don't  mean  thet,  Marcia!  " 

"  Mean  what?  "  I  asked  a  little  shortly,  for  I  felt 
annoyed  at  his  tone  of  protest  and  resentment. 

"  Mean?    Wai,  thet  the  Doctor  's  sweet  on  you  — 

"  Silas  C.  Marstin,  I  am  angry  with  you,  yes, 
angry !  Do  you  want  to  spoil  all  my  fun,  —  yes,  and 
my  happiness,  —  by  just  mentioning  such  an  impos 
sible  thing?  " 

"  God  knows  I  don't."  He  spoke,  as  it  seemed, 
almost  on  the  verge  of  tears. 

"  Then  never,  never  —  do  you  hear?  —  think  or 
mention  such  a  thing  again.  Promise  me." 

"  I  won't,  so  help  me  - 

"  That  '11  do;  that 's  right.  Now  be  sensible  and 
get  these  skis  off,  so  I  can  walk  to  the  house  like  a 
woman  instead  of  a  penguin." 

"  You  ain't  goin'  to  lay  it  up  against  me?  "'  he 
pleaded,  as  we  neared  the  house. 

"  No,  of  course  not;  only,  remember,  you  're  under 
oath.  I  mean  all  this."  I  nodded  at  him  gravely. 

"  An'  I  mean  it  too;  you  won't  have  nothing  to 
complain  of  so  fur  as  I  'm  concerned." 

"  Dear  old  Cale!  "  I  whispered  to  him  as  I  entered 
the  house,  where  I  found  Jamie  in  a  state  of  suppressed 
excitement  for  I  had  given  him  no  opportunity  to 
advance  his  theories  about  what  he  had  heard  the 
night  before  from  Cale. 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  269 

"  I  say,  Marcia,  come  on  into  the  office  and  let 's 
talk;  the  Doctor  is  in  the  living-room,  writing  for  all 
he  is  worth." 

"  I  can't;  I  'm  busy."  At  which  he  went  off  in  a 
huff. 


XXII 

"  "¥"  ET  me  take  your  mail  out  to  little  Pete,"  I 
said  to  the  Doctor,  who  was  superscribing 

-™ — ^  his  last  letter,  when  I  came  in  from  the 
morning's  sport. 

"  Thanks,  very  much." 

He  spoke  abstractedly;  ran  over  the  addresses  on 
several  envelopes  and  handed  them  to  me.  I  could 
not  help  seeing  that  the  one  on  top  was  addressed  to 
Delia  Beaseley.  I  fancy  he  intended  I  should  see  it. 
I  felt  sure  he  had  written  to  her  for  some  of  the  for 
gotten  details  of  that  night  in  December  more  than 
twenty-six  years  ago. 

"He's  on  the  track  of  that  child  — me!  Gale's 
story  has  given  him  the  clew,"  I  said  to  myself,  on 
noticing  his  absorption  in  his  own  thoughts  during 
dinner  and  his  preoccupation  in  the  afternoon.  In 
the  evening  he  drove  over  with  Cale  to  meet  Mr. 
Ewart. 

I  rather  enjoyed  the  course  events  were  taking;  it 
would  interest  me  to  watch  developments  of  the  Doc 
tor's  detective  work.  In  a  way,  it  had  all  the  fascina 
tion  of  a  drama  of  which  I  felt  myself  no  longer  to 
be  an  actor,  but  a  spectator. 

Jamie  cornered  me,  after  the  Doctor  and  Cale  drove 
off  to  the  junction. 

"  No,  you  don't!  "  he  said,  laughing,  as  he  extended 
his  long  arms  across  the  doorway  of  the  living-room 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  271 

to  bar  my  exit.  "  You  will  act  like  a  Christian  and 
love  your  neighbor  as  yourself  this  time.  Sit  down 
and  talk  —  or  I  sha'n't  be  able  to  finish  my  last  chap 
ter." 

Of  course  I  sat  down,  knowing  perfectly  well  what 
I  was  about  to  hear  —  at  least,  I  thought  I  did. 

"  Marcia  —  " 

"  Yes?  " 

"  The  more  I  think  of  it,  the  more  I  am  convinced 
that  what  Cale  told  us,  and  what  Doctor  Rugvie  told 
us,  are  two  acts  in  a  long  drama  —  tragedy,  if  you 
like." 

"  Well?  " 

"  You  are  cool,  I  must  say!  "  He  spoke  with  irri 
tation.  "  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  life,  presented 
in  such  a  manner  as  those  two  men  —  opposite  as  the 
poles  in  standing  —  presented  it,  does  n't  interest 
you?  " 

"  I  have  n't  the  imagination  of  genius,  Jamie." 

"  Now  you  know  perfectly  well  there  is  no  imagina 
tion  about  it.  It 's  life,  just  as  Cale  said;  and  it  's  my 
belief  the  Doctor  will,  in  the  end,  get  some  track  of 
that  girl.  If  he  does,  it  will  be  all  up  with  the  farm. 
Did  you  think  of  that?  " 

"  No!  "  I  spoke  the  truth.  I  was  amazed.  It 
never  occurred  to  me  to  connect  the  farm  project 
with  anything  Cale  had  said. 

"  I  '11  wager  he  '11  compare  notes  with  Cale  on  the 
way  over  to  the  station,  and  I  'm  going  to  refer  to  the 
farm  plan,  if  I  have  the  chance  after  they  get  back, 
to  see  what  he  '11  say." 

"  He  won't  think  you  're  interfering,  will  he?  " 

"He  can't."  He  spoke  decidedly.  "The  farm 
project  affects  me,  don't  you  see?  " 


272  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

"  Not  exactly;   how?  " 

"  Why,  if  —  of  course  it 's  only  an  '  if  '  —  the  Doc 
tor  should  find  this  girl,  he  would  n't  for  a  moment 
think  of  taking  that  money,  which  in  justice  if  not  in 
the  law  belongs  to  her,  to  further  any  of  his  plans. 
He  is  n't  that  kind  of  a  man." 

"  Of  course  not;  but  I  don't  see  how  — 

"  That 's  where  you  are  obtuse.  Look  here,  Marcia, 
how  long  do  you  suppose  I  can  stand  it  to  vegetate 
here  in  Canada?  It 's  healthy,  I  agree  to  that,  and 
doing  me  no  end  of  good;  but  I  can't  see  myself  living 
here  —  existing,  yes;  but  living,  no!  I'm  better, 
stronger;  and  even  if  I  were  n't,  I  would  n't  play  the 
coward  either  in  life  or  death.  As  it  is,  I  want  to  live 
my  life  full  in  my  own  way,  among  my  own.  I  want 
to  be  in  the  thick  of  the  fray,  even  if  by  being  there 
I  should  go  under  a  little  sooner.  I  want  to  mingle 
with  the  multitude  of  men  —  see  into  their  lives,  give 
them  something  of  mine  in  reality  and  through  the 
imagination,  and  get  their  point  of  view  into  my  life. 
I  can't  stay  on  indefinitely  here  in  Canada;  and  if  - 
if  —  " 

"  If  what?  " 

"  If  the  girl  should  be  found,  the  farm  project  would 
amount  to  nothing.  The  Doctor  sees,  just  as  you  and 
I  see,  that  Ewart  is  not  enthusiastic  about  it,  and  he 
is  n't  going  to  settle  on  Ewart's  land  with  an  unwel 
come  philanthropic  scheme.  And  then  — 

"  What?  "    I  was  becoming  impatient. 

"  Why,  then,  if  it  should  fall  through,  —  and  I  'm 
selfishly  hoping  it  may,  —  I  'm  not  in  the  least  bound, 
don't  you  know,  to  stay  on  here  as  Ewart's  guest. 
I  can  go  home." 

"  Home!  "  I  echoed.    The  thought  of  losing  Jamie 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  273 

had  never  occurred  to  me.  And  if  he  went,  then  his 
mother,  also,  would  go.  If  they  both  went,  I  should 
have  necessarily  to  leave  Lamoral,  for  I  was  merely 
an  entail  of  their  presence.  Leave  Lamoral!  I  sick 
ened  at  the  thought. 

"  Oh,  no,  no,  Jamie!  "  I  cried  out,  rebelling  against 
the  prospect  of  a  new  upheaval  in  my  life.  "  I  can't 
spare  you  —  I  can't  live  here  without  you  — 

With  every  thought  centered  in  Mr.  Ewart  at  that 
moment,  and  comprehending  as  I  did  the  logical  result 
of  Mrs.  Macleod's  leaving  the  manor  and  all  that  it 
would  mean  to  me,  I  did  not  realize  what  impression 
my  impulsive  words  might  make  on  her  son.  In  the 
silence  that  followed  my  protest,  I  had  time  to  realize 
what  I  had  said. 

"  I  did  n't  for  a  moment  suppose  you  felt  like  this, 
Marcia." 

In  a  flash  I  understood  the  twist  in  his  interpreta 
tion  of  my  words  and  feeling. 

"  You  don't  understand  -  "  I  began  vehemently, 
then  found  myself  hesitating  like  a  schoolgirl  who 
does  not  know  her  lesson.  I  was  ashamed  of  myself, 
for  Jamie  was  on  the  wrong  track  and  must  be  put 
right  at  all  costs. 

"  I  think  I  do."  He  spoke  gently,  almost  pityingly 
as  it  seemed  to  me  then.  I  boiled  inwardly. 

"  No,  you  don't;  but  there  's  no  time  to  explain 
now  —  I  hear  the  bells  —  " 

"  You  have  good  ears;  I  don't." 

"  They  're  coming!    Where  's  Mrs.  Macleod?  " 

"  Well,  they  're  not  returning  from  an  ocean  voy 
age,  even  if  they  are  coming;  there  is  no  need  to  run 
up  the  Union  Jack —  Hold  on  a  minute!"  He 
barred  the  door  again  with  his  long  arms. 


274  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

"  Let  me  out  —  they  're  at  the  door  — 

"  What  if  they  are?  " 

I  slipped  quickly  under  his  arm  into  the  passage 
way.  The  dogs  were  frantic  with  joy.  I  wanted  to 
show  mine  as  plainly,  perhaps  then  Jamie  might  un 
derstand!  I  flung  open  the  door,  and,  as  it  happened 
my  voice  was  the  only  one  to  welcome  them. 

"  You  're  back  so  soon!  " 

"  You  may  well  say  that,"  said  the  Doctor,  run 
ning  up  the  steps  and  seeming  to  bring  the  whole 
Arctic  region  of  cold  in  with  him;  "  I  drove  over  and 
made  good  time,  I  thought;  but  Ewart  took  the  reins 
on  the  way  back,  and  we  came  home  at  a  clip  —  nine 
miles  in  fifty-two  minutes!  That 's  a  record.  Now, 
Ewart,"  he  turned  to  speak  to  his  friend  who  had 
stopped  to  give  some  order  to  Cale,  "  see  how  well  I 
have  heeded  your  injunction  to  '  look  out '  for  Miss 
Farrell." 

"  And  the  horses  did  n't  bolt,"  I  said,  as  I  put  my 
hand  into  his  outstretched  one. 

"  Have  you  gotten  over  the  effects  of  the  au 
rora?  " 

The  hearty  gladness  in  his  voice  was  reward  enough 
for  the  restraint  I  put  on  myself.  I  wanted  to  give 
him  both  hands  and  tell  him  in  so  many  words  that, 
with  his  coming,  I  was  "  at  home  "  again. 

"  No,  and  never  shall,"  I  responded  joyfully. 

"  Nor  I  either.  —  Where  's  Jamie?  Oh,  Mrs.  Mac- 
leod,"  he  said,  spying  her  on  the  upper  landing,  "  I  Ve 
taken  you  unawares  for  the  first  time.  —  Down,  com 
rades,  down!  —  Jamie  Macleod,  is  this  the  way  you 
welcome  a  wanderer  to  his  own  hearth?  " 

Jamie's  hand  grasped  his  and  pumped  it  well. 

"  It 's  queer,  Gordon,  but  you  seem  to  look  at  your 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  275 

three  days  of  absence  from  the  same  point  of  view 
that  Marcia  does." 

"  How  's  that?  "  he  asked  quickly,  turning  to  me. 

"  Just  Jamie's  nonsense;  it 's  only  that  I  was  on 
the  lookout  for  you,  and  heard  the  bells  when  he  failed 
to." 

I  knew  I  was  growing  reckless,  but  I  did  not  care 
—  why  should  I?  —  if  he  knew  I  was  glad  to  see  him 
at  home  again.  I  did  not  care  if  they  all  knew  it  — 
I  must  put  Jamie  right  somehow.  And  what  was  there 
to  hide?  Not  my  gladness,  not  my  joy,  the  new  ele 
ments  in  my  new  life  —  this  something  I  had  never 
before  experienced.  Somehow,  all  my  resolutions  to 
keep  this  joy  "  to  myself  "  went  to  the  winds. 

Mr.  Ewart  made  no  reply,  but  I  knew  I  added  to 
his  evident  pleasure  in  his  return,  by  my  ready  and 
frankly  expressed  acknowledgement  that  I  was  "  on 
the  lookout  "  for  him. 

That  evening  was  one  never  to  be  forgotten.  It 
was  a  time  when  the  friendship  of  the  four  men,  Mr. 
Ewart,  Cale,  Doctor  Rugvie,  and  Jamie  Macleod, 
towards  me,  found  expression  both  in  jest  and  ear 
nest;  a  time  when  Mrs.  Macleod's  kindly,  if  always  a 
little  remote  interest  in  me  was  doubly  grateful,  for 
sure  of  it  and  its  protection  I  could  let  the  new  life, 
that  shortly  before  had  awakened  in  me,  flood  my 
whole  being  and  expand  heart,  soul  and  mind  with  its 
vital  flux.  I  felt  that  I  made  my  own  place  in  this 
household;  that  I  pleased  them  all;  that  they  liked 
my  speech,  whether  merry  or  grave;  that  they  liked 
my  ways  because  mine,  whether  I  was  lighting  cigars 
and  pipes  for  them,  or  frying  griddlecakes  at  ten  o'clock 
at  night  on  the  top  of  the  soapstone  stove,  in  redemp 
tion  of  my  promise  made  months  past.  The  truth  is 


276  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

I  felt  at  home,  wholly,  completely;  and  they,  recog 
nizing  it,  were  glad  for  me. 

With  Cale,  that  evening,  I  was  tender,  teasing,  ar 
rogant  by  turns;  I  had  him  at  my  mercy  —  and  his 
lips  were  sealed!  With  Jamie  I  was  absolutely  non 
sensical,  as  I  dared  to  be  in  view  of  his  twisted  inter 
pretation  of  my  apparently  sentimental,  "  I  can't  live 
without  you  here  etc."  I  bothered  and  puzzled  him, 
much  to  the  others'  amusement.  Into  the  Doctor's 
spirit  of  banter  I  entered  with  the  enjoyment  of  a  not 
very  "  old  "  girl.  I  caught  him  looking  at  me  with 
the  same  perplexed  expression  that  he  wore  when  I 
first  smiled  at  him  three  months  before  —  and  I  kept 
on  smiling,  as  I  had  cause,  hoping  the  message,  oft 
repeated,  would  carry  in  time  to  his  consciousness  the 
recognition  that  I  was,  indeed,  the  daughter  of  her 
whom  he  had  befriended  more  than  a  quarter  of  a 
century  ago.  The  emphatic  statement  made  by  Cale 
and  Delia  Beaseley  that  I  was  her  "  living  image  ", 
encouraged  me  in  this  line  of  procedure.  To  the 
Master  of  Lamoral  I  gave  willing  service,  frying  for 
him  delectable  griddlecakes,  turning  them  till  a 
golden  brown,  flapping  them  over  skilfully  on  his 
warm  plate,  and  deluging  them  with  incomparable 
maple  syrup  from  his  own  sugar  "  bush  ".  He  re 
ceived  this  service  in  the  spirit  in  which  I  gave  it,  and 
the  cakes  with  the  appreciation  of  a  man  and  con 
noisseur.  Mrs.  Macleod  seconded  my  efforts  in  this 
special  line  of  cooking  and  enjoyed  the  fun  as  much 
as  any  one  of  us. 

"  There  's  no  use,  I  'm  '  full  up  ',  "  said  Jamie  with 
a  sigh  of  exhaustion;  he  dropped  into  the  sofa  corner. 

"  I  kept  tally  for  you,  Boy,"  said  the  Doctor. 

"  How  many?  " 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  277 

"  Eighteen!  Apply  to  me  if  you  're  in  trouble  at 
one- thirty  to-night."  He  looked  at  his  watch. 

"  You  scored  seventeen  fully  ten  minutes  ago, 
mon  vieux,"  said  Mr.  Ewart  laughing. 

"  Slander,  Marcia!  Don't  believe  it.  Three  of 
mine  would  make  only  one  of  yours,  Gordon  Ewart; 
- 1  Ve  camped  enough  with  you  to  know  your  '  ca 
pacity  ',  as  the  freight  cars  have  it.  Marcia  Farrell, 
your  last  '  batch  '  has  been  '  petering  out ',  as  we  say 
at  home.  You  dropped  only  one  small  spoonful  for 
each  of  the  last  twenty  cakes;  the  ones  you  made  for 
Ewart  had  a  complement  of  two  big  spoonfuls  —  they 
were  corkers,  no  mistake.  Hold  up  your  head,  Boy!  " 
he  admonished  the  collapsed  object  on  the  sofa. 
"  Never  say  die  —  here  are  just  four  more  for  us 
four,  amen." 

A  dismal  groan  was  his  only  answer.  Mr.  Ewart, 
taking  turner  and  bowl  from  me,  declared  a  truce. 
The  Doctor  set  the  plates  on  the  table.  When  all  was 
clear  about  the  hearth,  on  which  Cale  laid  a  pine  log 
for  a  treat,  Mr.  Ewart  announced  that  he  had  a  sur 
prise  in  his  pocket. 

"  Jamie,  your  birthday  falls  on  the  twelfth  of  Au 
gust,  does  n't  it?  " 

"  Yes;  how  did  you  remember  that,  Gordon?  " 

"  You  had  a  birthday  when  I  was  in  Crieff  with  you 
seventeen  years  ago  —  and  we  celebrated.  Have  you 
forgotten?  " 

"  Forgotten!  "  Jamie  came  bolt  upright,  the  cakes 
were  as  naught,  the  remembrance  of  them  faded. 
"  Do  you  think  I  could  ever  forget  that?  You  took,  or 
rather  trotted  me  for  a  long  walk  over  the  moors  - 
oh,  the  pink  and  the  purple  heather  of  them,  the  black 
blackness  of  their  bogs,  the  green  greenery  of  their 


278  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

bracken  higher  than  my  head !  —  to  the  '  Keltic  ' ;  and 
you  held  me  over  the  pool  to  see  the  whirl  and  dash  of 
the  plunging  torrent.  I  remember  the  spray  made  me 
catch  my  breath.  Then  you  took  me  down  to  the 
bank  of  the  '  burnie  ',  and  found  a  place  to  camp  - 
my  first  camp  with  you  —  under  a  big  elm ;  and  there 
you  discovered  a  flat  stone,  and  two  crooked  branches 
for  crotches.  You  took  from  your  mysterious  game- 
basket  a  gypsy  kettle  and,  filling  it  at  the  '  burnie  ' 
with  the  water  that  tastes  like  no  other  in  the  world, 
you  hung  it  from  the  crotch  over  the  flat  stone  that 
was  our  hearth.  You  made  heaven  on  that  spot  for  a 
seven-year-old  boy,  because  you  let  him  touch  off  the 
fagots.  You  boiled  the  water,  made  tea  —  such  tea! 

—  and  brought  out  of  that  same  basket  bannocks  and 
fresh  gooseberry  jam  -  -    Oh,   don't,   don't  mention 
that  birthday!    You  make  me  homesick  for  it;   even 
Marcia's  griddlecakes  can't  help  me!  " 

"  We  '11  celebrate  again  this  year  in  the  wilds  of  the 
Upper  Saguenay."  Mr.  Ewart  took  from  his  pocket 
a  paper  and,  unfolding  it,  read  the  terms  of  a  lease  of  a 
fish  and  game  preserve  in  the  northern  wilderness. 

"  And  the  Andres,  father  and  son,  shall  be  our 
guides,  our  cooks,  our  factotums.  The  son  is  half 
Montagnais;  his  mother  was  of  that  tribe." 

"  Oh,  Ewart!  "  Jamie  's  eyes  glistened,  but  his 
volubility  was  checked;  he  felt  his  friend's  thought 
of  him  too  deeply. 

"  I  secured  it  while  I  was  away;  I  have  wanted  it 
for  the  last  five  years.  The  Doctor  has  promised  us 
six  weeks,  and  the  camp  will  be  more  attractive  " 

—  he  looked  at  Mrs.  Macleod  —  "  and  keep  us  longer, 
if    you    and    Miss    Farrell  will  be  my  guests,  and 
make  a  home  for  us  in  the  wilderness.    Will  you?  " 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  279 

For  once  in  her  life  Mrs.  Macleod  did  not  balk  at 
this  direct  question  involving  a  decision.  I  record  it 
to  her  credit. 

"  And  you?  "  He  turned  to  me  without  apparent 
eagerness,  but  I  caught  the  flash  of  pleasure  in  his 
eyes  when  I  answered  promptly,  with  enthusiasm: 

"  It  will  be  something  to  dream  of  till  it  is  a  reality. 
I  '11  begin  making  my  camp  outfit  to-morrow;  and 
Andre  pere  shall  teach  me  to  fish  and  paddle  a  canoe; 
his  son  shall  teach  me  woodcraft,  and  some  Monta- 
gnais  squaw  shall  show  me  how  to  weave  baskets.  In 
those  same  baskets  I  will  gather  the  mountain  berries 
for  such  of  the  family  as  may  crave  them,  and  —  and 
that  wilderness  shall  be  made  to  blossom  like  the  rose 
and  prove  to  us,  at  least,  a  land  flowing  with  milk  and 
honey." 

Mr.  Ewart's  question  about  a  "  home  in  the  wilder 
ness  "  was  the  motor  power  for  my  flight. 

"  Amen  and  amen,"  cried  the  Doctor,  approving 
of  my  soaring.  "  We  '11  return  to  the  Arcadia  of 
the  woodsman's  simple  life." 

"Humph!"  said  Gale.  "You'd  better  add  all 
them  contraptions  of  veils,  an'  nettin's,  and  smudge 
kettles,  an'  ointments,  an'  forty  kinds  of  made-up 
bait  —  so  made-up  thet  I  Ve  seen  a  trout,  a  three 
pounder,  wink  at  me  when  he  see  some  of  it  and  wag 
away  up  stream  as  sassy  as  you  please  —  an'  a  gross  of 
joss  sticks.  By  George,  I  Ve  seen  mosquitoes  as  big 
as  mice  — 

"  Gale,"  I  made  protest;   "  you  spoil  all." 

"  Better  wait  till  you  are  there,  Marcia,  before  you 
rhapsodize  any  more;  you  did  it  well,  though,  I  '11 
admit,"  said  Jamie,  with  his  most  patronizing  air. 

"  So  did  you  rhapsodize  over  Scotland,"  I  retorted; 


280  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

"  and  I  '11  rhapsodize  if  I  never  go;  and  you  're  not  to 
quench  my  enthusiasm  with  any  of  your  Scotch  mist 
that  I  am  told  is  nothing  less  than  a  downpour." 

"  By  the  way,  when  is  your  birthday,  Marcia?  " 
said  the  Doctor,  carefully,  oh,  so  carefully,  knocking 
the  ask  from  his  cigar  into  the  fireplace.  The  act  was 
so  very  cautious  that  it  betrayed  to  me  his  restrained 
expectancy  of  my  answer!  "  I  have  an  idea  it 's  the 
last  of  June." 

How  light  I  was  of  heart  in  answering  him,  in  giving 
him  the  clew  he  was  seeking  as  I  would  have  made 
him  a  gift,  fully,  freely  —  for  what  was  it  to  me  now, 
whether  he  knew  or  not? 

"  Next  December,  when  the  north  wind  blows  over 
the  Canada  snows,  you  may  remember  me,  if  you 
will." 

"  What  date?  " 

I  waited  intentionally  for  him  to  ask  that  question. 
I  felt  that  Cale  was  holding  his  breath;  but  I  did  n't 
care,  and  replied  without  hesitation: 

"  The  third  —  twenty-seven  years.    What  an  age!  " 

They  laughed  at  me,  one  and  all,  the  Doctor  perhaps 
a  little  more  heartily  than  the  others.  After  that  he 
sat,  with  one  exception,  silent;  but  Jamie  spoke  half 
impatiently: 

"  Why  did  n't  you  give  us  a  chance  to  celebrate  last 
December?  " 

"  Nobody  asked  me  about  it." 

The  Doctor  spoke  for  the  only  time  then.  "  I  '11 
make  a  mem  of  it,"  he  said  gayly,  taking  out  his  note 
book  and  writing  in  it.  And  I  saw  through  his  every 
move  —  the  dear  man! 

"  You  might  have  given  us  the  pleasure  of  remem 
bering  it,"  said  Mrs.  Macleod  reproachfully. 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  281 

"  Oh,  I  celebrated  it  in  my  own  way  —  and  for  the 
first  time  in  my  life,"  I  replied,  treasuring  in  my  heart 
that  hour  in  the  office  with  Mr.  Ewart  when  he  took 
my  gift  of  service  "  gratis  ". 

"  Might  a  common  mortal,  who  has  both  eyes  and 
ears  and  generally  can  see  through  a  barn  door  if  it 
is  wide  open,  ask  in  what  manner  you  celebrated 
that  you  escaped  notice  of  every  member  of  this 
household?  "  Jamie  spoke  ironically. 

"  Jamie,  I  outwitted  even  you  that  time.  Of  course 
I  '11  tell  you:  I  made  a  gift  to  some  one,  which  was 
a  good  deal  more  satisfactory  than  to  receive  one  my 
self." 

"  The  deuce  you  did!  Perhaps  you  '11  tell  me  what 
it  was  and  who  was  the  man?  I  was  n't  aware  of 
any  extra  purchases  in  the  village." 

"  Not  now."  I  spoke  decidedly.  "  Let 's  talk  about 
the  camp.  I  can't  wait  for  the  spring.  When  can  we 
go?  "  I  asked  Mr.  Ewart. 

"  Not  before  the  first  of  July,  but  we  can  remain 
until  into  September." 

The  words  were  commonplace  enough;  but  the 
tone  in  which  they  were  spoken  belonged  to  another 
day,  another  hour,  to  that  moment  when  he  accepted 
my  gift  of  service  "  gratis".  He,  at  least,  knew  how 
I  celebrated  that  third  of  December! 

Content,  satisfied,  I  began  to  jest  with  Jamie.  We 
made  and  enlarged  upon  the  most  ideal  plans  it  ever 
befell  mortals  to  make.  The  others  listened  to  our 
chaffing  and  found  amusement  in  it,  for  we  tried  to 
outdo  each  other  in  camp-hyperbole.  The  Doctor, 
Mr.  Ewart  and  Cale,  whose  presence  Mr.  Ewart  in 
sisted  upon  having  the  entire  evening,  smoked  in 
silence.  I  knew  where  the  Doctor's  thoughts  were. 


282  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

I  would  have  given  a  half-hour  of  that  evening's  en 
joyment  —  at  least  I  think  I  would  —  to  have  read 
Mr.  Ewart's. 

Late,  very  late,  Cale  rose,  put  a  chunk  into  the  soap- 
stone,  and  said  good  night.  I  followed  him  into  the 
kitchen.  I  wanted  to  speak  with  him,  for  I  saw  some 
thing  was  out  of  gear. 

"  What 's  the  matter,  Cale?  "  I  whispered,  as  he 
fumbled  about  for  the  candle  somewhere  on  the 
kitchen  dresser. 

"  Marcia,"  he  whispered  in  turn,  "  I  've  pretty 
nigh  lied  myself  inter  hell  for  you  ter-night.  On  the 
way  over  ter  the  junction  the  Doctor  put  his  probe 
inter  what 's  'twixt  you  an'  me  mighty  deep;  but  I 
was  a  match  fer  him!  An'  then  I  come  home  jest  ter 
hear  you  give  yourself  all  away!  What  in  thun  - 

"  Sh,  Cale!    Somebody  's  coming  —  " 

"  Wai,  a  gal 's  'bout  the  limit  when  —  "I  heard 
Mm  say  in  a  tone  of  utter  disgust,  and,  laughing  to 
myself,  I  ran  up  stairs. 


XXIII 

AFTER  the  Doctor's  departure  on  the  Saturday 
of  that  week,  I  wrote  to  Delia  Beaseley,  telling 
her  how  far  I  had  ventured  upon  the  disclosure 
of  the  fact  that  I  was  the  daughter  of  her  whom  she 
had  helped  to  save,  and  that  she  was  now  free  to  tell 
him  whatever  he  might  ask  in  regard  to  me,  as  far  as 
she  could  answer;  but  that  on  no  consideration  was 
she  to  speak  of  the  papers  in  his  possession;  and  if  he 
spoke  to  her  of  them,  she  was  to  say  that  he  must  settle 
that  with  me;  that  on  no  account  was  she  to  learn 
anything  of  their  contents.  I  wrote  her  this  as  a  pre 
cautionary  measure  only,  for  I  was  convinced  the 
Doctor  would  not  mention  those  papers.  They  be 
longed  to  me,  to  me  alone.  It  was  a  matter  of  business. 

She  wrote  in  answer  that  she  would  do  as  I  re 
quested. 

The  spring  was  both  long  and  late  in  coming.  Day 
after  day,  week  after  week  the  wind  held  steadily 
from  the  east  or  northeast.  When,  at  last,  it  turned 
right  about  face,  and  the  sun,  climbing  high  in  the 
north,  warmed  the  breast  of  mother-earth,  already 
swelling  with  its  hidden  abundance,  the  waters  were 
loosened  and  the  great  river  and  all  its  tributaries 
were  in  ice-throes,  travailling  for  deliverance. 

Then  it  was  that  the  plank  sidewalks  throughout 
the  length  and  breadth  of  Richelieu-en-Bas  were 


284  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

securely  chained  to  each  householder's  fence  or  tree, 
to  prevent  them  from  sailing  away  on  the  rising  flood. 
Then  it  was  that  rowboats  were  in  evidence  in  many 
a  front  yard.  The  creek  was  impassable;  the  high 
road  bridge  was  threatened.  Cale  and  Mr.  Ewart 
seemed  to  live  in  rubber  boots,  both  by  day  and  by 
night.  Pierre  called  frantically  on  all  the  protecting 
saints  to  withhold  rain  at  the  time  of  the  "  debacle  ": 
the  breaking  up  of  the  river.  His  son  came  in  twice 
a  day,  on  an  average,  with  soaked  stockings  and 
knickerbockers  wet  through  and  through;  was 
duly  castigated  —  lightly,  I  say  to  his  father's  credit 
—  and  as  regularly  comforted  by  Angelique  with 
flagons  of  spiced  hot  milk  or  very  sweet  ginger  tea. 
It  finally  dawned  upon  us  that  the  youngster  deliber 
ately  waded  through  slush  to  obtain  the  creature 
comforts.  After  that,  they  were  withheld. 

Cale  looked  grim  and  Mr.  Ewart  anxious  for  one 
twenty-four  hours.  All  night  they  were  out  on  horse 
back  with  lanterns  and  ropes.  Then  the  heavy  rain- 
clouds  dispersed  without  the  dreaded  deluge;  the 
sun  shone  clear  and  warm;  the  small  ice  jams  gave 
way,  and  the  great  floes  went  charging  down  on  the 
black  waters  towards  the  sea. 

During  this  time  of  east  wind,  rain  and  snow, 
Jamie  often  chafed  inwardly,  for  the  weather  kept  him 
housed;  but  he  busied  himself  with  his  work  and  soon 
became  wholly  absorbed,  lost  to  what  went  on  around 
him. 

And  what  was  going  on  around  him?  Just  this:  two 
lives,  a  man's  and  a  woman's,  long  bound  by  the  frost 
of  circumstance,  like  the  ice-bound  river  in  full  view 
from  the  manor,  were  in  the  process  of  being  warmed 
through  and  through,  thawed  out;  the  ice  obstructing 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  285 

each  channel  was  beginning  to  move,  that  the  courses 
of  their  lives,  under  the  power  of  love's  rays,  might,  at 
last,  flow  unhindered  each  into  the  other.  So  it  seemed 
to  me,  at  least,  during  those  weeks  of  waiting  for  the 
spring. 

Did  I  know  he  loved  me?  Yes,  I  knew  it;  was  sure 
of  it;  but  no  word  was  spoken,  for  no  word  was  needed 
then.  We  understood  each  other.  We  were  man  and 
woman,  not  boy  and  girl.  We  recognized  what  each 
of  us  was  becoming  to  the  other  in  the  daily  intimate 
household  ways  of  life  —  an  enduring  test;  in  the 
community  of  our  human  interests,  in  the  common 
wealth  of  our  friends,  of  our  books.  His  best  friends 
were  mine;  mine  were  his  —  all  except  Delia  Beaseley; 
sometime  I  intended  he  should  know  her. 

I  thought  at  first  that  would  come  about  through 
the  farm  project;  but  Mrs.  Macleod,  Jamie  and  I  had 
to  acknowledge,  soon  after  the  Doctor  returned,  that 
the  development  of  this  plan  was  at  a  standstill. 
Naturally  this  pleased  both  mother  and  son.  For 
them  it  meant  the  prospect  of  a  return  in  the  near 
future  to  their  home  in  Scotland;  finally  to  England, 
and  London.  Jamie  confided  to  me  he  should  cast 
anchor  there  for  a  time,  his  second  book  having  been 
accepted  by  a  good  publisher  in  that  city. 

He  found  opportunity  in  my  presence  to  ask  Doctor 
Rugvie,  just  before  he  left  us,  about  his  further  plans 
for  the  farm  scheme,  and  was  told  rather  brusquely 
that  certain  complications  had  arisen,  which  must  be 
cleared  up  before  he  could  proceed  to  develop  them. 
Not  once  did  he  drive  over  to  the  farm  on  his  last 
visit.  As  for  Mr.  Ewart,  he  never  mentioned  the  sub 
ject.  Jamie  was  wise  enough  to  refrain  from  asking 
questions  of  him. 


286  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

The  Doctor's  announcement  kept  Jamie  guessing 
for  weeks,  his  curiosity  being  unsatisfied;  but  as  for 
me  —  I  laughed  in  my  sleeve,  for  I  knew  how  that 
"  third  of  December  "  birthday  on  my  innocent  part, 
had  disarranged  the  good  Doctor's  philanthropic 
scheme,  for  the  present  at  least.  I  was  curious  to 
know  how  he  would  proceed  to  "  clear  away  "  those 
complications. 

The  fear  of  leaving  Lamoral  for  good  was  diminish 
ing;  I  knew  that  what  held  me  there,  held  Mr. 
Ewart  also.  I  rested  content  in  this  knowledge. 


XXIV 

IT  was  the  second  week  in  May  when  the  seigniory 
farmers  began  to  arrive  and  closet  themselves 
with  Mr.  Ewart  in  the  office.  The  "  going  "  was 
atrocious,  and  the  appearance  at  the  side  door  of  the 
clay-clogged  cariole,  buggy,  caleche  and  farm-cart, 
bore  witness  to  this  fact. 

Jamie  and  I  were  on  the  watch  for  each  arrival.  We 
knew  nearly  all  of  these  habitant-farmers.  They 
hitched  their  "  team  ",  and  spent  hours  with  Mr. 
Ewart.  Sometimes,  when  we  were  in  the  living-room, 
we  could  hear  voices  from  the  office  in  lively  and  ear 
nest  discussion.  We  remarked  the  air  of  pride  and 
satisfaction  with  which  each  one  unhitched  his  horse, 
climbed  into  his  special  conveyance,  slapped  the  reins 
on  his  animal's  back  and  was  off  with  a  merry 
"  Bonnes  nouvelles!  "  to  his  habitant- wife  who,  while 
waiting  for  her  husband,  had  been  in  the  kitchen  ex 
changing  courtesies  with  Angelique,  and  feasting  on 
freshly  fried  doughnuts  and  hot  coffee.  The  notary 
from  Richelieu-en-Bas,  as  well  as  the  county  surveyor, 
were  also  closeted  with  Mr.  Ewart;  they  arrived  after 
breakfast  and  left  before  supper.  At  dinner  they  were 
our  guests,  but  no  business  topics  were  mentioned. 

By  Saturday,  the  routine  of  visitation  was  concluded. 
The  notary  departed  with  his  green  baize  bag  appar 
ently  bursting  with  documents.  It  was  Angelique 


288  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

who  informed  us  after  his  departure  that  the  seignior 
had  been  receiving  the  seignioral  rents  with  his  own 
hand. 

The  next  morning  at  the  breakfast  table,  Mr. 
Ewart  asked  me  if  I  would  help  him  to  audit  some 
accounts,  the  farmers  having  just  paid  their  half- 
yearly  rents. 

"  At  what  hour?  "  I  asked. 

"  I  shall  need  your  help  for  the  entire  forenoon  and 
probably  for  an  hour  or  two  after  dinner.  Shall  we 
say  at  nine?  " 

"  Can't  I  help?  "  said  Jamie,  rather  half-heartedly 
I  must  confess. 

Mr.  Ewart  took  in  the  situation  by  the  tone,  and 
smiled  as  he  answered: 

"  No;  you  're  too  busy  with  your  work;  the  prose 
of  figures  would  n't  appeal  to  you  just  now." 

"  Would  n't  they  though!  Try  me  on  a  check  from 
my  publisher." 

"  It 's  the  point  of  view,  after  all,  that  changes  pro 
portions,  is  n't  it?  Are  you  going  to  work  in  here?  " 

"  Yes;  I  need  about  four  by  eight  feet  of  surface 
to  keep  my  ideas  from  jostling  one  another,  and  this 
dining-room  table  is  about  the  right  fit  when  I  'm 
comparing  pages  of  manuscript  with  first  galley 
proofs." 

"  Good  luck,  then;  we  '11  not  disturb  you  till  din 
ner." 

An  hour  later  when  I  went  into  the  office,  I  found 
Mr.  Ewart  at  his  desk.  Beside  him  was  a  large  tin 
box,  twice  as  large  as  a  bread-box.  On  top  lay  two 
pairs  of  his  thick  driving-gloves.  I  must  have  looked 
my  surprise,  for  he  laughed  as  he  rose  to  place  two 
chairs,  one  on  each  side  of  the  only  table  in  the  room 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  289 

—  a  fine  old  square  one  of  ancient  curly  birch,  gener 
ally  bare,  but  now  covered  with  a  square  of  oil  cloth. 

"  What  next?  I  can't  wait  for  developments  to 
explain  all  this  paraphernalia,"  I  said;  my  curiosity 
was  thoroughly  roused. 

"  These."  He  held  out  a  pair  of  the  driving- 
gloves.  "  You  are  to  put  them  on,  please,  and  not 
to  take  them  off  till  I  give  you  permission." 

Mystified,  I  obeyed.  He  set  down  the  tin  box  on 
the  table  between  us;  opened  wide  both  windows  to 
let  in  the  tonic  air,  that  began  to  hint  of  real  spring, 
and,  drawing  on  the  other  pair  of  gloves,  took  his 
seat  opposite  me  at  the  table.  I  could  not  help  laugh 
ing. 

"  How  does  this  performance  strike  you?  "  he  asked, 
amused  at  my  amusement. 

"  Like  the  prelude  to  some  absolutely  ridiculous 
rite,  unknown  to  me." 

"  That  is  just  what  it  is."  He  spoke  so  emphatically, 
so  earnestly,  that  I  was  still  further  mystified.  "  You 
have  hit  the  bull's-eye.  It  is  a  ridiculous  rite,  and, 
thank  God,  it 's  for  the  last  time  that  I  am  chief 
mummer  in  it.  Here  in  this  box,  Miss  Farrell,"  he 
went  on  unlocking  it  and  displaying  a  conglomerate 
mass  of  silver  and  soiled  paper  money,  "  are  rents, 
seigniorial  rents,  paid  by  men  who  farm  it  on  the 
seigniory,  whose  fathers  and  fathers'  fathers  have 
worked  this  ground  before  them,  men  who  should  own 
this  land,  to  a  man  who  should  not  own  it  in  the  exist 
ing  conditions  —  conditions  that  have  no  place  in  the 
body  politic,  here  or  anywhere  else.  It 's  a  left-over 
from  medievalism  —  and  I  am  about  to  do  away  with 
this  order  of  things,  to  prove  myself  a  man." 

"  You  believe,  then,  in  the  ownership  of  the  land 


290  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

by  the  many?  "  Tasked  eagerly.  I  was  glad  to  get 
his  point  of  view.  The  discussions  between  him, 
Doctor  Rugvie  and  Jamie,  were  always  of  great  inter 
est  to  me.  Although  I  knew  something  of  his  plans 
from  the  other  two,  he  had  never  mentioned  them 
to  me.  I  saw  he  was  speaking  with  great  feeling. 

"  Believe  in  it!    It 's  the  first  article  in  my  political 
and  sociological  creed.    I  've  come  back  here  to  Can 
ada,  where  I  was  born,  to  incorporate  it  in  action.  - 
And  you  're  wondering  where  you  come  in,  in  this 
experiment,  I  '11  wager,"  he  said  gayly. 

I  answered  him  in  the  same  vein:  "  I  confess,  I  fail 
to  see  the  connection  between  your  driving-gloves  on 
my  hands,  your  strong  box  between  us  —  and  the 
first  article  of  your  creed." 

"  Of  course  you  don't!  "  He  laughed  aloud  at  my 
mental  plight  and  his  own  manner  of  announcing  his 
special  tenet.  "  I  '11  begin  at  the  beginning  and 
present  the  matter  by  the  handle.  I  want  you  to 
grasp  it  right  in  the  first  place." 

"  Thank  you,"  I  said  meekly;  "  not  being  a  femi 
nine  John  Stuart  Mill,  I  need  all  the  enlightenment 
I  can  have  on  the  presence  of  this  worldly  dross 
that  lies  between  us.  Facts  contradict  theories." 

With  a  sudden,  almost  passionate  movement,  he 
shoved  the  box  to  one  side  on  the  table;  it  was  no 
longer  between  us.  I  knew  there  was  significance 
in  hisjmpulsive  action,  but  I  failed  to  understand  what 
it  indicated. 

"  It 's  taking  rather  a  mean  advantage  of  a  woman, 
I  own,  to  ask  her  on  the  spur  of  the  moment  to  share 
a  man's  political  and  sociological  views  —  but  I  want 
you  to  share  mine,  and  enlightenment  is  your  due." 

"  And  in  the  meantime  am  I  to  keep  on  the  gloves?, " 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  291 

He  laughed  again.  "  Yes;  keep  them  on  and  help 
me  out  of  this  scrape  —  I  have  never  felt  so  humili 
ated  in  my  life  as  I  have  taking  this  money.  Now  I  '11 
be  rational.  You  see,  smallpox  roams  at  times  through 
Canada.  This  money  has  been  stored  in  stockings, 
instead  of  banks,  after  having  been  hoarded,  handled, 
greased,  soiled  by  a  generation  or  more.  You  '11  find 
dates  of  issue  on  these  notes  that  are  a  good  deal  older 
than  you,  and  silver  minted  in  the  early  sixties.  Now 
I  want  your  help  in  counting  over  —  auditing,  we  '11 
call  it  —  this  mass  of  corruption.  And  I  don't  intend 
you  shall  run  any  risk  in  handling  even  a  small  part 
of  it  —  hence  the  gloves  and  the  fresh  air.  After  we  're 
through  with  it,  we  will  pack  the  filthy  lucre  in  the 
box  and  express  it  to  a  Montreal  bank.  It  is  n't  mine 
—  at  least  I  do  not  consider  it  so." 

"  Why  not?  " 

"  Because  I  am  going  to  apply  these  half-yearly 
rents  in  reducing  the  interest  on  the  money  I  am  loan 
ing  these  farmers,  in  order  to  enable  them  to  buy  the 
best  implements  and  cultivate  their  land  more  intelli 
gently.  This  I  may  say  to  you,  but  to  no  one  else." 

"  You  are  going  to  sell  them  the  land?  " 

"  The  greater  part  of  it.  The  forest  I  keep,  because 
I  love  that  work  and  hope  in  time  to  make  a  sufficient 
income  from  it,  in  case  of  actual  need.  In  fact,  I  Ve 
been  working  all  the  week  with  the  notary  to  get  the 
deeds  in  order." 

"  So  that  was  their  '  bonnes  nouvelles  '  ?  " 

"  You  heard  them?  " 

"  Yes.    They  looked  so  happy  - 

"  Oh,  I  am  glad;  glad  too,  that  you  could  see  some 
thing  of  their  pleasure  in  this  special  work  of  mine. 
Do  you  know," — he  leaned  towards  me  over  the  table, 


292  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

—  "  that  I  have  asked  you  to  help  me  with  this  as  a 
matter  of  pure  sentiment?  " 

His  eyes  sought  mine,  but  I  am  sure  they  found 
only  an  enquiring  turn  of  mind  in  them,  for  I  could 
not  imagine  where  the  sentiment  was  in  evidence. 

"  I  see  I  '11  have  to  explain,"  he  said  smiling.  "  I 
want  you,  an  American  with  all  the  free  inheritance 
of  the  American,  to  share  with  me  in  this  last  rite  of 
mediae valism,  in  order  that  in  the  future  we  may  look 
back  to  it  —  and  mark  our  own  progress." 

Oh,  that  word  "  our  "  !  Used  so  freely,  it  rejoiced 
me.  He  intended  this  affair  to  mark  some  epoch  in 
his  life  and  mine.  I  waited  for  him  to  say  something 
further.  But,  instead,  he  turned  to  the  business  in 
hand  and  we  set  to  work.  To  be  sure  the  "  auditing  " 
on  my  part  was  a  mere  farce;  for  not  only  did  Mr. 
Ewart  do  most  of  the  counting,  and  making  into 
bundles  of  a  hundred,  but  he  insisted  on  my  not  bend 
ing  close  over  the  currency  to  watch  him.  As  I  told 
him,  "  After  asking  me  to  help  you,  you  keep  me  at 
arm's  distance." 

Whereupon  he  smiled  in  an  amused  way,  and  said 
engagingly,  but  firmly: 

"  There  is  no  question  of  my  keeping  you  at  a  dis 
tance.  Don't  mind  my  crotchets,  Miss  Farrell,  I  have 
a  fancy  to  have  you  here  with  me  at  the  obsequies  of 
all  this  sixteenth-in-the-twentieth  century  nonsense. 
At  forty-six,  I  still  have  my  dreams.  You  '11  be  good 
enough  to  indulge  me,  won't  you?  " 

"  If  that  's  all,  I  think  I  can  indulge  you.  But  is 
there  nothing  I  can  do  to  be  of  some  real  help?  " 

*'  Nothing  but  to  lend  me  your  companionship 
during  this  trying  ordeal.  You  might  fill  out  some 
labels  —  you  '11  find  them  in  that  handy-box  on  the 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  293 

desk  —  with  the  words  '  hundred  '  and  '  fifty  ',  and 
I  '11  gum  them  on  to  these  slips  for  the  money  rolls." 

For  a  few  minutes  I  busied  myself  with  the  labels. 
After  that,  I  watched  his  swift  counting  of  bills  and 
silver,  and  his  ordering  them  into  neat  packages  and 
rolls.  Before  long,  however,  I  took  matters  into  my 
own  gloved  hand  and,  without  so  much  as  "by  your 
leave  ",  began  the  recount,  labelling  as  I  went  on. 
Within  an  hour  the  work  was  finished  and  a  smaller 
tin  box  packed. 

"  How  much  did  you  make  it?  "  he  asked,  before 
locking  the  box. 

"  Three  thousand  four  hundred  and  twenty- two, 
just." 

"  The  rate  of  interest  I  charge  them  is  two  per  cent, 
and  this  amount  will  reduce  that  greatly." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  you  are  letting  them  have  the 
land,  supplying  money  to  help  them  cultivate  it, 
and  charging  only  two  per  cent  interest?  " 

"  Why  should  I  charge  more?  They  are  the  ones 
who  are  doing  the  land  good.  You  see,  the  use  of 
this  rent-accumulation  to  reduce  their  interest  rate 
for  the  first  year  or  two,  is  a  part  of  my  general  scheme. 
They  are  to  apply  their  half-yearly  rents  as  purchase 
money  for  their  land;  this  is  in  the  deeds.  Within  a 
comparatively  short  period,  this  assures  to  each  of  them 
a  freehold.  The  valuation  I  have  put  on  their  land 
is  regulated  by  the  amount  of  work  they  have  put 
out  on  it,  and  the  time  they  have  lived  on  it. 

"  Take  old  Mere  Guillardeau,  for  instance.  She 
has  an  '  arpent '  now  of  her  very  own.  She,  and  her 
father,  and  her  father's  father  have  lived  on  these 
seigniory  lands  for  nearly  two  hundred  years.  I  value 
that  land  by  discounting  the  value  of  the  service  ren- 


294  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

dered  to  it  in  four  generations.  Her  little  '  cabane  ' 
is  her  own,  having  been  built  by  her  father.  The  land 
is  worth  to  her  all  the  accumulated  value  of  those 
generations  of  toil;  to  me,  who  have  never  done  any 
thing  for  it,  neither  I  nor  my  fathers,  it  is  worth  ex 
actly  ten  dollars  —  now,  don't  laugh!  —  her  yearly 
rent." 

"  And  that  buys  it!  "  I  exclaimed,  wondering  what 
kind  of  finance  this  might  be,  frenzied  or  sane. 

"  It  is  hers  —  and  I  have  the  pleasure  of  knowing 
it  is  hers  while  I  am  living.  She  and  her  old  daughter 
of  seventy  drove  out  here  the  other  day  in  Farmer 
Boucher's  cart,  and  when  she  went  home  she  carried 
the  deed  with  her  to  have  it  registered.  Old  Andre's 
sister  is  a  hundred  years  old  in  January  —  a  hundred 
years,  the  product  of  one  piece  of  land,  for,  practically 
they  have  lived  from  it  with  a  yearly  pig,  a  cow,  a  few 
hens  and  a  garden.  Ninety  years  of  toil  she  has  spent 
upon  it.  Would  you,  in  the  circumstances,  have 
dared  to  make  the  time  of  purchase  one  year,  six 
months  even,  and  she  nearly  a  centenarian?  " 

"  No."    I  was  beginning  to  understand. 

"  And  take  old  Jo  Latour.  You  know  him  well,  for 
I  hear  from  him  how  many  times  you  have  been  there 
on  snow-shoes  to  take  him  something  '  comforting 
and  warming  ',  as  he  says.  Jo  has  rheumatism,  the 
kind  that  catches  him  when  he  is  sitting  in  his  chair 
or  stooping,  and  prevents  his  getting  up;  and  at 
last,  when  he  manages  to  stand  upright,  it  won't  let 
him  bend  or  sit  down  again  until  after  painful  effort. 
What  can  he  do?  Boil  maple  syrup  once  a  year,  or 
chop  a  cord  or  two  of  wood  at  a  dollar  a  cord?  He  is 
seventy-two  and  has  no  family  as  you  know.  What  is 
he  going  to  do  when  the  pinch  becomes  too  hard?  He 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  295 

has  a  small  woodlot,  a  little  garden,  a  patch  of  tobacco 
-  is  happy  all  day  long  with  his  dog  and  pipe,  despite 
that  rheumatic  crippling.  I  have  valued  his  lot  at 
twenty  dollars,  and  a  year's  rent  will  pay  for  it  —  with 
the  help  of  this,"  he  added,  touching  the  box. 

"  I  am  learning  how  to  take  hold  of  the  matter  by 
the  handle.  Enlighten  me  some  more,  please." 

"  I  could  go  on  for  hours  into  more  detail,  but  I  am 
going  to  mention  only  two  other  families,  to  show  how 
my  plan  works.  There  are  Dominique  Montferrand 
and  Maxime  Longeman,  men  of  thirty  or  thereabouts, 
fine  strong  men  with  their  broods  of  six  and  eight. 
They  marry  young;  work  hard  and  faithfully;  shun 
the  cabarets;  save  their  surplus  earnings.  They 
were  born  on  the  land ;  they  love  it  and  give  it  of  their 
best  toil;  it  responds  to  good  treatment.  Their  dairy 
is  one  of  the  best;  their  stock  superior.  They  have 
seventy-five  acres  each.  I  asked  them  to  value  it 
themselves.  They  showed  they  appreciated  the  worth 
of  the  land  by  the  price  they  set:  four  thousand  dol 
lars  —  four  thousand  '  pieces  '.  They  would  not 
cheapen  it  —  not  even  for  the  sake  of  getting  it  more 
quickly.  A  man  appreciates  that  spirit.  I  have  set 
the  period  for  half-yearly  payments  at  ten  years  — 
and  I  will  help  out  with  improved  farm  implements 
at  the  rate  of  interest  I  mentioned. 

"  In  less  than  ten  years,  if  the  crops  are  good,  it  is 
theirs.  If  the  crops  are  poor,  they  can  still  pay  for  it 
in  the  period  set.  They  are  young.  They  have  some 
thing  to  work  for  during  the  best  years  of  their  lives." 

"  But  how  do  you  feel  about  parting  with  all  this 
land  that  was  your  ancestors?  Are  n't  you,  too, 
bound  to  it  by  ties  of  value  given?  " 

"  Me?     My  ancestors!  "  he  exclaimed.     "  Where 


296  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

did  you  get  that  idea?  Who  told  you  that  this  was 
ancestral  land  of  mine?  " 

"  Mrs.  Macleod,  or  Jamie,  intimated  it  was  yours 
by  inheritance." 

"  Hm  —  I  must  undeceive  them.  But  you  are  not 
to  harbor  such  a  thought  for  a  moment." 

"  I  won't  if  you  say  so  —  but  I  would  like  to  know 
how  things  stand."  I  grew  bold  to  ask,  at  the  thought 
of  his  expressed  confidence  in  me. 

"  Why,  it 's  all  so  simple  —  " 

"  More  simple,  I  hope,  than  all  that  matter  of 
seigniorial  rights  and  transferences  I  read  upon,  in  the 
Library  before  I  came  —  and  was  no  wiser  than  be 
fore." 

"  And  you  thought  —  -  Oh,  this  is  rich!  "  he  said, 
thoroughly  amused. 

I  nodded.  "  Yes;  I  thought  you  were  a  seignior. 
I  dreamed  dreams,  before  coming  here  of  course,  of 
retainers  and  ancestral  halls,  and  then  —  I  was  met 
by  Cale  at  the  boat  landing!  " 

Mr.  Ewart  fairly  shouted  as  he  sensed  my  disap 
pointment  on  the  romantic  side  upon  discovering 
Cale. 

"  And  the  first  thing  you  did,  poor  girl,  was  to  lay 
a  rag  carpet  strip  in  the  passageway  for  my  seigniorial 
boots  —  spurred,  of  course,  in  your  imagination  —  to 
make  wet  snow  tracks  on!  Oh,  go  on,  go  on;  tell  me 
some  more.  I  would  n't  miss  this  for  anything." 

Before  I  could  speak  there  was  a  decided  rap  on  the 
door. 

"  That 's  Jamie,"  I  said;  "  he  has  come  for  the 
fun." 

"  Come  in,"  cried  Mr.  Ewart.  Jamie  intruded  his 
head;  his  rueful  face  caused  an  outburst  on  my  part. 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  297 

"  I  say,  Ewart,  is  it  playing  fair  to  a  man  to  have 
all  this  unwonted  hilarity  in  business  hours,  and  keep 
me  out?  " 

"  No  more  it  is  n't,  mon  vieux.  Come  in  and  hear 
about  Miss  FarrelPs  seigniorial  romancing." 

"  Go  on,  Marcia,"  said  Jamie,  sitting  down  by 
me. 

"  You  Ve  misled  me,  Jamie.  Did  n't  you,  or  Mrs. 
Macleod,  tell  me  when  I  first  came  that  this  Seigniory 
of  Lamoral  was  Mr.  Ewart's  by  inheritance?  " 

"  Well,  it  was  in  a  way,  was  n't  it,  Gordon?  It 
was  a  Ewart's?  " 

"  Not  in  a  way,  even.  I  never  thought  enough  about 
your  view  of  the  matter  to  speak  of  it.  Let  's  have  a 
cigar,  if  Miss  Farrell  does  n't  object,  and  I  '11  tell 
what  there  is  to  tell  —  there  's  so  little!  " 

Jamie  looked  at  me  when  Mr.  Ewart  rose  to  get 
the  cigars  —  and  looked  unutterable  things.  I  read 
his  thought:  "  Now  is  our  time  to  find  out  the  truth 
of  things  heard  and  rumored." 

"  I  was  born  in  Canada,  Miss  Farrell,"  he  said,  be 
tween  puffs,  "  as  Jamie  knows,  and  educated  in  Eng 
land.  My  mother's  great-uncle,  on  her  mother's  side, 
was  a  Ewart  of  Stoke  Charity,  a  little  place  in  the 
south  of  England.  While  I  was  there,  I  was  much 
with  this  great-uncle;  I  bear  his  name.  He  owned 
this  estate  of  Lamoral  in  Canada,  that  is,  two-thirds 
of  the  original  seigniory;  the  other  third  belongs  to 
the  present  seignior  and  seignioress  in  RicheJieu-en- 
Bas.  He  purchased  it  from  a  Culbertson  who  in 
herited  it  from  his  grandfather,  an  officer  of  promi 
nence  in  the  French  and  Indian  wars.  At  that  time, 
many  of  the  old  French  seigniories  fell  into  the  con 
queror's  hands,  and,  by  the  power  of  a  might  that 


298  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

makes  right,  were  allotted  to  various  English  officers 
for  distinguished  services.  The  original  Culbertson 
never  lived  here.  His  grandson,  my  great-uncle's 
friend,  never  cared  enough  for  it  to  manage  it  him 
self;  he  left  all  to  an  agent  and  found  it  paid  him 
but  little  —  so  little  that  he  was  willing  enough  to  sell 
two-thirds  of  it,  the  neglected  two-thirds,  to  my  great- 
uncle. 

"  On  my  great-uncle's  death,  his  grandson,  my  con 
temporary,  inherited  it.  I  bought  it  of  him  ten  years 
ago;  but  I  have  used  it  only  as  a  camping-place 
when  I  have  been  over  from  England  or  the  Island 
Continent.  I  paid  for  it  with  a  part  of  what  I 
earned  on  my  sheep  ranch  in  Australia  —  so  linking 
two  parts  of  the  Empire  in  my  small  way  —  and 
I  have  never  regretted  it.  That 's  all  there  is  to  tell 
of  the  '  inheritance  '  romance,  Miss  Farrell." 

"  Gordon  -  ''  Jamie  stopped  short;  blew  the  smoke 
vigorously  from  his  lips,  and  began  again.  "  Would 
you  mind  telling  me  how  you  came  to  want  to  settle 
here?  " 

"  Why?  Because  I  am  a  Canadian,  not  an  English 
man." 

"  Why  do  you  always  take  pains  to  make  that  dis 
tinction?  " 

"  That 's  easy  to  explain.  Because  a  Canadian  is 
never  an  Englishman;  he  is  Canadian  heart  and  soul. 
You  can't  make  him  over  into  an  Englishman,  no 
matter  if  you  plant  him  in  Oxford  and  train  him  in 
Australia.  I  've  been  enough  in  England  to  know 
that  we  are  looked  upon  for  what  we  are  —  colo 
nials,  Canadians,  just  the  other  side  of  the  English 
pale  although  within  the  bounds  of  the  British  Em 
pire.  You  feel  it  in  the  air,  social,  political  and  eco- 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  299 

nomic.  No  drawing-room  in  England  accepts  me  as 
an  Englishman  —  and  I  enter  no  drawing-room  with 
any  wish  to  be  other  than  a  Canadian  of  the  purest 
brand.  We  're  not  even  English  in  our  political  rights 
over  there.  We  are  English  only  in  the  law,  as  is  the 
pariah  of  India.  We  want  to  be  just  Canadians,  in 
heritors  of  a  land  unequalled  in  its  possibilities  for 
human  growth,  for  human  progress,  for  the  carrying 
out  of  just,  wise  laws,  for  a  far-reaching  economical 
largesse  undreamed  of  in  other  lands  —  not  excepting 
yours,"  he  said,  turning  to  me. 

"  And  would  you  mind  telling  me,"  I  asked,  em 
boldened  by  Jamie's  personal  question,  "  how  it 
has  come  about  that  you  look  upon  your  special 
land  ownership  with  such  a  broad  human  outlook?  " 

"  And  this  really  interests  you?  "  He  asked  me  in 
some  surprise. 

"  It  really  interests  me  —  why  should  n't  it  when 
I  have  my  own  livelihood  to  earn?  The  economic 
question,  so-called,  seems  to  me  to  resolve  itself  into 
the  question:  How  are  we,  I  and  my  brothers  and 
sisters,  who  work  in  one  way  and  another,  going 
to  feed  and  clothe  ourselves  —  and  yet  not  live  by 
bread  alone?  But,  I  don't  suppose  you  know  that  side 
of  it,  only  theoretically?  " 

"  Yes,  and  no.  I  got  all  my  inspiration  about  this 
land  question  in  England." 

"  In  England!  "  Jamie  repeated,  showing  his  sur 
prise.  "  That  would  seem  the  last  place  for  the  ad 
vancement  of  such  theories  about  land  as  I  have  heard 
you  explain  more  than  once." 

"  In  this  way.  The  object  lesson  came  from  Eng 
land  —  but  was  upside  down  on  my  national  retina. 
I  had  to  re-adjust  it  in  Canada.  It 's  just  here; 


300  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

the  condition  of  England  is  this  —  I  have  seen  it 
with  both  bodily  and  spiritual  eyes :  —  That  snug 
little,  tight  little  island  is  what  you  might  call  in 
athletic  parlance  '  muscle  bound  '.  I  '11  explain.  For 
more  than  a  century  she  has  colonized.  What  is  left 
now?  Her  land  owned  by  the  few;  her  population, 
that  which  is  left,  rapidly  pauperizing.  England,  with 
a  land  for  the  sustenance  of  millions,  is  powerless  to 
help,  to  succor  her  own.  She  has  too  much  unused 
land,  as  the  muscle-bound  athlete  has  too  much 
muscle.  It  handicaps  her  in  all  progress.  Her  classes 
are  now  two:  the  very  poor,  and  the  poor  who  have 
no  land;  the  rich  who  have  practically  all  the  land. 
In  this  condition  of  things  her  economical  and  politi 
cal  system  is  drained  of  it  best. 

"  Scotch,  English,  Irish  —  the  clearest  brains,  the 
best  muscle,  the  highest  hearts,  are  coming  over  here  to 
Canada.  This  land  is  the  great  free  land  for  the  many. 
In  settling  here,  I  wanted  to  add  my  quota  of  effort 
in  the  right  direction.  And  I  cannot  see  but  that  this 
little  piece  of  earth,  three  thousand  acres  in  all,  on 
which,  for  two  hundred  years,  men,  women  and  chil 
dren  have  succeeded  one  another,  multiplying  as 
generation  after  generation,  have  gone  on  caring  for 
the  land,  living  from  it, — -but  never  owning  a  foot  of  it, 
—  is  the  best  kind  of  an  experiment  station  for  work 
ing  out  my  principles.  I  am  about  to  apply  the  result 
of  my  English  object  lesson  here  in  Lamoral.  I  have 
been  telling  Miss  Farrell  about  the  disposition  I  in 
tend  to  make  of  it,  gradually,  of  course.  Perhaps 
you  would  like  to  hear  sometime." 

"  Will  you  tell  me  about  it  in  detail?  "  Jamie  asked 
eagerly. 

"  I  am  only  too  pleased  to  find  a  listener,  an  inter- 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  301 

ested  one.  Miss  Farrell  has  proven  a  good  one  —  I  've 
kept  you  already  two  hours."  He  rose. 

"  Is  it  possible !  "  I  was  genuinely  surprised.  "  The 
time  had  seemed  so  short.  I  must  go  now  and  help 
Angelique  with  her  new  cake  recipe  —  a  cake  we  eat 
only  in  the  States,  and  a  good  object  lesson  on  the 
economic  side."  I  rose  and  laid  the  gloves  on  the 
table.  I  had  kept  them  on  just  a  little  longer  than 
was  necessary  —  because  they  were  his!  Foolish? 
Oh,  yes,  I  knew  it  to  be;  but  it  was  such  a  pleasure  to 
indulge  myself  in  foolishness  that  concerned  nobody's 
pleasure  but  my  own. 

"  Sometime  I  want  to  ask  you  a  few  questions,  Miss 
Farrell,"  said  Mr.  Ewart,  as  I  turned  to  the  door. 

"  What  about?  "    I  was  a  little  on  the  defensive. 

"  I  want  to  know  how  you  came  to  have  any  such 
economic  ideas  in  your  thinking-box?  " 

I  turned  again  from  the  door  to  face  him.  "  Have 
you  ever  lived  in  New  York?  " 

"  No." 

"  Have  you  ever  been  there?  "  There  was  a  mo 
ment's  hesitancy  before  he  replied,  thoughtfully: 

"  Yes;  I  have  been  through  it  several  times." 

"  Then  you  must  know  something  of  the  economic 
conditions  of  those  four  millions?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Do  I  answer  you,  when  I  tell  you  I  was  one  four- 
millionth  for  seven  years?  That  I  struggled  for  my 
daily  bread  with  the  other  four  millions;  that  after 
seven  years  I  found  myself  going  under  in  the  struggle, 
poor,  alone,  ill,  with  just  twenty-two  dollars  to  show 
for  the  seven  years  of  work?  Can  you  wonder  that 
I  am  interested  in  your  work  after  my  object  les 
son?  " 


302  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

For  a  moment  there  was  silence  in  the  office.  I 
broke  it. 

"  My  two  friends,"  I  said  lightly,  "  I  have  up 
stairs  in  my  purse  a  little  sum  of  fourteen  dollars  that 
I  received  from  Mrs.  Macleod  when  I  was  in  New 
York;  that  was  my  passage  money  to  Lamoral.  I 
was  too  proud  to  owe  anything  to  any  one  unknown 
to  me,  so  took  fourteen  dollars  of  my  twenty- two  — 
all  I  possessed  after  the  seven  years'  struggle  • —  and 
paid  my  own  passage.  I  Ve  wondered  again  and 
again  to  whom  I  should  return  this  money.  I  have 
never  had  the  courage  to  ask.  Will  you  tell  me 
now?  " 

"  I  knew  nothing  of  the  money,  Miss  Farrell,  or  of 
you."  Mr.  Ewart  spoke  at  last  in  a  steady,  but  strained 
voice.  Jamie's  eyes  were  reddened.  He  held  out  his 
hand  and  I  put  mine  into  it. 

"  That  was  n't  friendly  of  you,  Marcia  —  you 
should  have  told  us." 

"  Whose  money  is  it,  Jamie?  " 

"  It 's  the  Doctor's." 

"  His  own?  " 

"  His  very  own;  he  told  me.    Why?  " 

"  Because  I  am  so  thankful  to  know  that  it  is  not 
from  that  accumulated  sum;  you  know  what  he  said. 
I  would  not  like  to  touch  it,  coming  from  such  an  un 
known  source,  besides  - 

"  Pardon  me,"  said  Mr.  Ewart  rising  abruptly. 
Going  to  the  side  door  he  called  to  Cale  who  was  pass 
ing  round  the  house.  "  I  have  to  speak  with  Cale." 

He  left  the  room,  and  Jamie  and  I  stared  at  each 
other,  an  interrogation  point  in  the  eyes  of  each. 

The  tin  box  still  stood  on  the  table. 

"  What 's  in  that?  "  Jamie  demanded. 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  303 

"  Filthy  lucre,"  I  said,  turning  for  the  second  time 
to  leave  the  room. 

"  Well,  if  Ewart  's  queer  sometimes,  as  witness  his 
abrupt  departure,  you  're  queerer  with  your  ideas  of 
money." 

I  laughed  back  at  him  as  I  went  out  of  the  office : 

"  I  can  pay  the  Doctor  now,  Jamie.  I  'm  rich,  you 
know." 


XXV 

WE  saw  little,  if  anything,  of  Mr.  Ewart  for  the 
next  week.  His  time  was  wholly  occupied 
with  the  land  business.  He  took  his  break 
fast  early,  at  five  or  thereabout,  and  rarely  came  home 
for  dinner  or  supper.  His  return  at  night  was  also 
uncertain.  Sometimes  a  telephone  message  informed 
us  he  was  starting  for  Montreal,  or  Quebec.  I  think  I 
saw  him  but  once  in  the  week  that  followed  that  morn 
ing  in  the  office.  Then  it  was  late  in  the  evening,  on  his 
return  from  Montreal.  He  seemed  both  tired  and 
preoccupied.  We  were  not  at  table  with  him  during 
those  seven  days.  I  wondered,  and  Jamie  guessed  in 
vain,  whether  anything  might  be  worrying  him.  It 
seemed  natural  that  something  should  be  the  trouble 
during  such  a  wholesale  transference  of  land. 

Mrs.  Macleod  and  I  were  busy  all  day  in  getting 
ready  the  camp  outfit  for  the  four  of  us.  Cale  was  not 
to  go,  as  his  work  was  at  home.  It  surprised  me  that 
he  had  so  little  to  say  about  Mr.  Ewart  to  whom  he 
was  devoted.  Whenever,  in  the  intimacy  of  our  half- 
relation  bond,  I  felt  at  liberty  to  question  him  about 
his  employer,  he  always  put  me  off  in  a  manner  far 
from  satisfying  and  wholly  irritating. 

I  asked  him  once  if  he  knew  whether  Mr.  Ewart 
was  a  bachelor  or  a  widower. 

He  stared  at  me  for  a  moment. 

"  He  ain't  said  one  word  ter  me  sence  I  come  here 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  305 

as  ter  whether  he  is  one  or  t'other,"  he  answered, 
sharply  for  him. 

"  That 's  all  right,  Cale;  I  bear  you  no  grudge. 
But,  in  justice,  you  '11  have  to  admit  that  when  you 
live  month  after  month  in  the  same  house  with  a  man 
and  his  friends,  you  can't  help  wanting  to  know  all 
there  is  to  know  about  him  and  them." 

"  Wai,  if  you  look  at  it  thet  way,  I  ain't  nothing 
ter  say.  How  'bout  yourself?  "  With  that  he  delib 
erately  turned  his  back  on  me,  and  left  me  wondering 
if  by  any  incautious  word,  by  my  manner,  by  any 
small  act,  I  might  have  betrayed  the  source  of  my  new 
joy  in  life. 

By  the  first  of  June  the  Seigniory  of  Lamoral  was  a 
wonderfully  active  place.  The  farmers  were  making 
greater  and  more  intelligent  efforts  in  cultivating  their 
lands  than  ever  before.  Mr.  Ewart  had  established 
the  beginning  of  a  small  school  of  agriculture  and  for 
estry. 

He  used  one  of  the  vacant  outbuildings  for  the 
classes.  It  was  open  to  all  the  fanners  and  their  fami 
lies;  and  twice  a  week  there  were  lectures  by  experts, 
hired  by  Mr.  Ewart,  with  practical  demonstration 
on  soil-testing,  selection  of  seed,  hybridizing,  and  irri 
gation  methods.  They  were  well  attended.  The 
women  turned  out  in  full  force  when  it  was  known  that 
there  would  be  three  lectures  on  bee-culture,  and  the 
industry  threatened  to  become  a  rage  with  the  farm 
ers'  wives;  I  found  from  personal  observation  that 
the  flower  gardens  were  increased  in  number  and  en 
larged  as  to  acreage.  Mr.  Ewart  said  afterward,  when 
the  blossoming  time  was  come,  that  the  land  reminded 
him  of  the  wonderful  flower  gardens  around  Erfurt 
in  Germany  where  honey  is  a  staple  of  the  country. 


306  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

It  was  proposed  to  hold  a  seigniory  exhibition  of 
fruits,  vegetables  and  cereals,  the  last  of  September. 

The  Canadian  spring  seems  to  lead  directly  into  sum 
mer's  wide  open  door.  In  June,  Jamie  and  I  were  often 
on  horseback  —  I  learning  to  ride  a  good  Kentucky 
saddle  horse  that  Mr.  Ewart  had  added  to  the  stables. 
We  were  much  in  the  woods,  picking  our  way  along 
the  rough  beginnings  of  roads  that  Cale,  with  the 
help  of  a  gang  of  Canuck  workmen,  was  making  at 
right  angles  through  the  heavy  timber.  He  had 
been  at  work  in  this  portion  throughout  the  winter 
in  order  to  bring  the  logs  out  on  sledges  over  the 
encrusted  snow. 

One  afternoon  in  the  middle  of  June,  Mr.  Ewart, 
whose  continual  flittings  ceased  with  the  first  of  the 
month,  asked  me  to  ride  with  him  to  the  seigniory 
boundaries  on  the  north  —  something  I  had  expressed 
a  wish  to  see  before  we  left  for  camp,  that  I  might  note 
the  progress  on  our  return  in  September.  He  said  it 
was  a  personally  conducted  tour  of  inspection  of 
Cale's  roads  and  trails. 

My  old  panama  skirt  had  to  serve  me  for  riding- 
habit.  A  habitant's  straw  hat  covered  my  head.  Mr. 
Ewart  rode  hatless.  I  was  anticipating  this  hour  or 
two  with  him  in  the  June  green  of  the  forest. 
I  had  not  been  alone  in  his  presence  since  those 
hours  in  the  office  —  and  now  there  was  added  the 
intimacy  of  the  woodsy  solitude. 

"  I  am  beginning  to  be  impatient  to  show  you  the 
trails  through  that  real  wilderness  on  the  Upper 
Saguenay;  but  those,  of  course,  we  take  without 
horses,"  he  said,  as  he  held  his  hand  for  my  foot  and 
lifted  me  easily  to  the  saddle. 

"  I  've  been  marking  off  the  days  in  the  calendar 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  307 

for  the  last  three  weeks.  It  will  be  another  new  life 
for  me  in  those  wilds." 

"  I  hope  so." 

"  Have  you  decided  which  way  to  go?  " 

"  I  think  it  will  be  the  better  way  to  go  by  train 
to  Lake  St.  John  —  to  Roberval.  We  can  cross  the 
lake  there  and  reach  our  camp  about  as  easily  as  by 
way  of  Chicoutimi.  We  shall  have  a  lot  of  camp 
paraphernalia  for  so  long  a  camping-out,  and,  besides, 
that  route  will  show  you  and  Jamie  something  of  a 
wonderful  country.  Of  course,  we  shall  come  back 
by  the  Saguenay;  I  'm  saving  the  best  for  the  last." 

We  forded  our  creek  about  a  mile  above  the  manor 
and  entered  the  heavy  timber. 

"  And  to  think  it  is  I,  Marcia  Farrell,  who  is  going 
to  enjoy  all  this!  "  I  was  joyful  in  the  anticipation  of 
spending  eight  weeks,  at  least,  in  the  presence  of  this 
man ;  eight  untrammelled  weeks  in  this  special  wilder 
ness  to  which  he  asked  me  in  order  that  it  might  seem 
something  of  a  home  to  him! 

"  And  why  should  n't  it  be  you?  " 

"  I  don't  know  of  any  reason  why  it  should  n't, 
except  that  it  might  so  easily  have  been  some  one 
else.  But  I  must  n't  think  of  that." 

"  That  is  sensible;  although  I  confess  I  don't  like 
to  think  that  you  might  so  easily  have  been  some  one 
else.  Hark!  Hear  that  cuckoo  - 

We  drew  rein  for  a  few  minutes,  there  beneath  the 
great  trees.  The  western  light  was  strong,  for  the  sun 
was  still  two  hours  high.  Then  we  rode  on  slowly  over 
the  wide  rough  clearings  which  Cale  had  run  at  right 
angles,  north  and  south,  east  and  west  through  the 
woods. 

'  These  are  all  to  be  grassed  down  next  fall;    in 


308  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

another  year,  if  the  grass  catches  well,  they  will  make 
fine  going  for  horses  or  for  carriages,  as  well  as  good 
fire-lanes  for  which  I  have  had  them  cut.  In  the  second 
season  I  can  turn  some  of  the  prize  Swiss  cattle  in  here 
to  graze  for  extra  feeding.  They  know  so  well  how 
to  do  all  this  in  Europe,  and  we  can  learn  so  much 
from  those  older  countries!  I  am  sure,  too,  if  you 
knew  France,  you  would  say  that  these  river  counties 
in  French  Canada  are  so  like  the  north  of  France  —  like 
Normandy !  When  I  drive  over  the  country  hereabout, 
I  can  fancy  myself  there.  I  find  the  same  expanse 
and  quiet  flow  of  the  river,  the  highroads  bordered  by 
tall  poplars,  the  villages  sheltered  from  the  north  by 
a  wood  break  — -  forest  wood.  Even  the  backwater 
of  the  river,  like  our  creek,  recalls  those  ancestral 
lands  of  my  French  brothers'  forefathers :  —  the 
clear  dark  of  the  still  surface,  the  lindens,  their  leaves 
as  big  as  a  palm- leaf  fan,  coming  down  to  the  water's 
edge,  and  a  wood-scow  poling  along  beneath  them.  I 
love  every  feature  of  this  country!  "  he  exclaimed 
with  enthusiasm,  "  and  I  want  you  to."  He  turned 
in  his  saddle  to  look  directly  at  me. 

"  I  do  love  it,  what  I  know  of  it  —  and  I  wish  I 
might  sometime  see  those  other  countries  you  have 
spoken  of,  especially  those  flower  gardens  of  Erfurt." 
I  smiled  at  my  thought. 

His  words  conjured  in  my  imagination  enticing 
pictures  of  travel  —  such  as  I  had  planned  when 
in  New  York,  when  my  ten  years'  savings  should 
permit  me  to  indulge  myself  in  a  little  roaming.  My 
dream  that  was!  I  was  tempted  to  tell  him  of  it 
then  and  there. 

"  You  know,  Mr.  Ewart,  I  spoke  very  freely  to  you 
and  Jamie  that  morning  in  the  office." 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  309 

"Yes;  I  am  thankful  you  felt  you  could  —  at 
last.  I  have  been  waiting  for  some  opportune  hour 
when  I  could  ask  you  a  few  personal  questions,  if 
you  permit." 

"  Well,  that  was  one  of  my  day  dreams  —  at 
twenty-six,"  I  said,  wondering  what  his  was,  still 
unexpressed,  at  "  forty-six".  "  The  truth  is,  I  wanted 
to  break  with  every  association  in  New  York  and  with 
my  past  life  — 

"  Why,  Miss  Farrell?  You  are  so  young  to  say 
that;  at  your  age  you  should  have  no  past." 

I  hesitated  to  answer.  Thoughts  followed  one  an 
other  with  rapidity:  "  Shall  I  tell  him?  Lay  before 
him  what  threatened  to  embitter  my  whole  life? 
Shall  I  make  known  to  him  the  weight  of  the  burden 
that  rested  for  so  many  years  on  my  young  shoulders 
—  even  before  I  went  down  into  that  great  city  to 
earn  my  livelihood?  Shall  I  tell  him  that?  How  can 
he  understand,  not  having  had  such  experience? 
What,  after  all,  is  that  to  him,  now? 

"  Young?  "  I  repeated,  looking  away  from  him  west 
wards  into  the  illumined  perspective  of  forest  greens. 
"  When  you  were  young,  very  young  in  years,  was 
there  never  a  time  when  you  felt  old,  as  if  youth  had 
never  passed  your  way?  " 

I  heard  a  sudden,  sharp-drawn  breath.  I  turned 
to  him  on  the  instant,  and  in  the  quivering  nostril, 
the  frowning  brows,  the  hard  lines  about  the  well- 
controlled  lips,  I  read  the  confirmation  of  my  intui 
tion,  expressed  to  Jamie  so  many  months  ago,  that 
he  had  suffered.  My  question  had  probed,  uninten 
tionally,  to  the  quick. 

With  a  woman's  sympathetic  insight,  I  saw  that 
this  man  had  never  recovered  from  his  past,  never 


310  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

broken  with  it  as,  so  recently,  I  had  broken  with  mine. 
I  felt  that  until  he  should  make  the  effort,  should 
gain  that  point  of  view,  he  could  never  feel  free  to  love 
me  as  I  loved  him.  The  barrier  of  that  past  was  be 
tween  us.  What  it  was  I  hardly  cared  to  know.  I 
was  intent  only  upon  helping  him  to  free  himself  from 
the  serfdom  of  memories. 

"  Don't  answer  me  —  I  don't  want  any,"  I  said 
hastily,  leaning  over  to  lay  my  hand  on  the  pommel 
of  his  saddle.  It  was  the  only  demonstration  I 
dared  to  make  to  express  my  understanding,  my 
sympathy. 

In  an  instant  his  right  hand  closed  hard  upon  mine ; 
held  it,  hard  pressed,  on  the  pommel. 

"  I  think  I  want  to  answer  you,"  he  said,  speaking 
slowly,  deliberately,  without  the  slightest  trace  of 
excitement  in  his  passionless  voice. 

He  was  looking  into  the  woods  —  not  at  me  —  as 
he  spoke,  and  I  knew  that  at  that  moment  his  soul 
was  wandering  afar  from  mine;  it  was  with  some  one 
in  the  past.  Suddenly,  a  hot,  unreasonable  wave  of 
jealousy  overwhelmed  me;  I  yielded  to  the  impulse 
to  pull  my  hand  from  under  his. 

"It  is  not  my  hand  he  is  clasping,  and  pressing 
with  the  strength  of  a  press-block  on  the  pommel; 
it 's  that  other  woman's!  "  I  said  to  myself,  making  a 
second  determined  effort  to  release  my  hand. 

He  whirled  about  in  his  saddle,  looking  me  directly 
in  the  eyes.  He  read  my  thought  of  him. 

"  Let  your  hand  lie  there,  quietly,  under  mine,"  he 
said  sternly;  "  it 's  your  hand,  remember,  not  an 
other's." 

The  tense  muscles  of  my  hand  relaxed.  It  lay  pas 
sive  under  the  pressure  of  his.  I  waited,  quiescent. 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  311 

I  realized  that  the  Past  had  been  roused  from  its 
lair.  I  must  wait  until  it  should  seek  covert  again  of 
its  own  accord,  before  speaking  one  word. 

"  I  want  to  answer  you  —  and  answer  as  you  alone 
should  be  answered :  Yes,  I  have  felt  old  —  centuries 
old  —  " 

He  caught  the  bridle  rein  under  the  thumb  of  his 
right  hand  as  it  lay  over  mine.  The  left  he  thrust 
into  his  pocket;  drew  out  a  match-safe,  a  wax-taper. 
I,  meanwhile,  was  wondering  what  it  all  meant; 
dreading  developments,  yet  longing  to  know. 

He  reached  for  an  overhanging  branch  of  birch  and 
broke  off  a  small  twig  of  tender  young  green.  To  do  so, 
he  removed  his  hand  from  mine  which  I  kept  on 
the  pommel.  I  saw  that  the  Past  was  still  prowling, 
and  it  behooved  me  not  to  irritate,  not  to  enrage  by 
any  show  of  distrust;  nor  did  I  feel  any. 

He  struck  the  taper.  "  This  is  against  forest  rules," 
he  said,  "  but  for  this  once  I  shall  break  them." 

He  held  the  fresh  green  of  the  tiny  birch  twig  in  the 
flame.  The  young  life  dried  within  leaf  and  leaf- 
bud.  The  living  green  hung  limp,  blackened. 

"  Such  was  my  life  when  I  was  young,"  he  said, 
calmly  enough;  but,  suddenly,  a  dull  red  flush  showed 
beneath  the  clear  brown  of  his  cheeks.  It  mounted 
to  temples,  forehead,  even  to  the  roots  of  his  hair 
where  a  fine  sweat  broke  out. 

And,  seeing  that,  I  dared — I  could  bear  the  sight  no 
longer :  —  I  took  my  hand  from  the  pommel  and  laid 
it  over  the  poor  blackened  twig,  crushing  it  in  my 
palm;  hiding  it  from  his  sight,  from  mine. 

I  believe  he  understood  the  entire  significance  of 
my  action;  for  he  turned  his  hand  instantly,  palm 
upwards,  and  caught  mine  in  it.  The  limp  bit  of 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

foliage  lay  between  the  two  palms.  He  looked  at  me 
steadily;  not  a  flickering  of  the  eye,  not  a  twitch  of 
the  eyelid. 

"  I  lost  the  woman  I  loved  —  how  I  lost  her  I  need 
not  say.  That 's  all.  But  I  have  answered  you." 

"  Yes  —  but  —  " 

"  What?  Speak  out  —  you  must,"  he  said  hastily, 
with  the  first  outward  sign  of  nervous  irritation. 

"  Is  —  is  she  dead?  " 

I  felt  my  whole  future  was  at  stake  when  I  put  that 
question. 

"  Yes!  "  —  a  pause,  —  "  are  you  answered  fully 
now?  " 

"  Fully.  —  Let  me  have  the  twig." 

He  released  my  hand.  I  looked  at  the  bit  of  birch 
closely,  scrutinizingly.  I  found  what  I  was  hoping 
to  find:  a  tiny  sign  of  life,  a  wee  nub  of  green;  some 
thing  ready,  unseared,  for  another  year. 

"  I  think  I  '11  take  it  home,"  I  said,  as  if  interested 
only  in  botany;  "  I  find  there  is  life  left  in  it  —  a  tiny 
bud  that  may  be  a  shoot  in  time.  I  '11  see  what  I 
can  do  with  it;  the  experiment  is  worth  trying." 

He  smiled  for  answer.  He  understood.  The  beast 
of  the  Past  was  again  in  its  lair.  I  regained  my  usual 
good  spirits  and  proposed  that  we  see  Mrs.  Boucher's 
flower  gardens  before  we  turned  homewards. 

"  I  like  to  hear  you  use  that  word  —  it  is  a  new  one 
for  me." 

"  For  me,  too;  and  if  you  don't  object  I  would 
like  you  to  know  why  it  means  so  much  to  me.  You 
see  I  am  anticipating  the  personal  questions." 

"  I  want  to  know  —  all  that  I  may." 

"  It  is  your  right,  now  that  I  am  in  your  home.  Shall 
I  find  you  in  the  office  this  evening?  " 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  313 

"  Yes;  but  rather  late.  Shall  we  say  ten?  I  shall 
not  be  at  home  for  porridge." 

"  Any  time  will  do." 

We  rode  out  into  the  open,  where  the  horses  cantered 
quickly  along  the  highroad  to  Farmeress  Boucher's. 
There  I  dismounted  to  visit  her  gardens  and  bee-hives 
and  share  her  enthusiasm  over  the  new  industry. 

We  gave  our  horses  the  rein  on  the  homeward  way 
and  rode  in  silence,  except  for  one  remark  from  Mr. 
Ewart. 

"  We  have  not  been  over  the  roads,  and  Cale  will  be 
disappointed.  We  will  go  another  time." 

"  That  will  do  just  as  well;  I  only  want  to  be  able 
to  mark  the  progress  in  September  when  we  return 
from  camp." 

It  was  supper  time  when  we  reached  the  manor, 
but  Mr.  Ewart  did  not  stay  for  any.  He  was  off  again 
—  "on  business  "  he  said. 


XXVI 

WHAT  shall  I  tell  him?  How  shall  I  tell  him? 
Shall  what  I  tell  him  be  all,  or  garbled? 
Is  there  any  need  to  mention  my  mother? 
Shall  I  confess  to  non-knowledge  of  my  father's 
name?  What  is  it,  after  all,  to  him,  who  and  what 
they  were?  It  is  I,  Marcia  Farrell,  in  whom  his 
interest  centres." 

I  thought  hard  and  thought  long  when  I  found  my 
self  alone  after  nine  in  my  room.  I  came  at  last  to  the 
conclusion  that  there  was  no  need  to  bring  in  my 
mother's  name  into  anything  I  might  have  to  say  to 
him  —  not  yet.  I  regretted  that  he  was  not  present 
that  evening  when  Cale  told  the  terrible  story  of 
her  short  life.  It  would  have  been  all  sufficient 
for  me  to  say  to  him  after  that,  "  I  am  her  daughter." 
Only  once,  on  the  occasion  of  making  myself  known, 
had  I  mentioned  her  to  Cale;  not  once  referred  to  her, 
or  her  desperate  course  since  that  narration.  And 
Cale,  moreover,  had  sealed  our  lips  —  the  four  of  us. 
I  had  no  wish  to  speak  of  what  was  so  long  past. 
But,  sometime,  I  intended  to  ask  Cale  if  George  Jack 
son  ever  obtained  a  divorce  from  my  mother,  and 
when.  In  a  way,  what  people  are  apt  to  consider  a 
birthright  depended  on  his  answer. 

Again  and  again  during  that  hour  of  concentrated 
thought,  there  surged  up  into  consciousness,  like  a 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  315 

repeating  wave  of  undertone,  the  realization  that 
all  that  belonged  to  a  quarter  of  a  century  ago,  all, 
all  past;  done  with;  their  accounts  settled.  They  were 
forgotten,  mostly,  by  everyone;  forgiven,  perhaps,  by 
the  few,  including  Cale.  Why  should  what  my  mother 
did,  or  did  not  do,  figure  as  a  factor  in  my  present  and 
future  life?  I  determined  to  take  my  stand  with  Mr. 
Ewart  on  this,  and  this  alone. 

I  was  sitting  by  the  open  window  in  the  soft  June 
dark  and,  while  thinking,  deliberating,  weighing  facts, 
choosing  them,  defining  my  position  to  myself,  I  was 
aware  that  I  was  listening  to  catch  the  first  distant 
thud  of  a  horse's  hoofs  approaching  the  manor 
from  —  somewhere.  The  night  was  clear  but  dark. 
There  was  no  wind.  I  rose  from  my  chair  and 
leaned  out,  stemming  both  hands  on  the  window 
ledge.  Far  away,  somewhere  on  the  highroad  above 
the  bridge,  I  heard  the  long  drawn  note  of  an  auto 
mobile  horn,  and  for  the  first  time  since  my  coming 
to  Lamoral!  I  listened  intently;  the  machine  was 
coming  nearer.  At  last,  I  could  hear  voices  in  the  still 
night.  There  was  another  note  of  warning,  sweet, 
mellow,  far-reaching.  I  leaned  still  farther  out  in 
order  to  see  if  I  could  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  light,  for 
I  knew  it  was  coming  towards  the  manor.  It  was  a 
curious  thing  —  but  just  that  sound  of  an  automobile, 
that  action  of  mine  in  the  dark  warmth  of  a  summer 
night,  reacted  in  consciousness.  The  motor  power  in 
voked  the  perceptive  —  and  I  saw  myself  as  I  was 
nine  months  before,  leaning  out  from  my  "  old  Chel 
sea  "  attic  window  into  the  sickening  sultry  heat  of 
mid-September,  and  shaking  my  puny  fist  at  the  great 
city  around  me! 

For  a  moment  I  relived   that  hour  and   the  six 


316  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

following.  Then,  in  a  flash  of  comprehension,  I  saw 
my  way  to  tell  the  master  of  Lamoral  something  of 
my  very  self  —  of  myself  alone :  I  would  put  into  his 
hand  the  journal  in  which  I  wrote  for  the  last  time  on 
that  memorable  night,  when  the  course  of  my  life  was 
altered,  its  channel  deepened  and  widened  by  my  ac 
ceptance  of  the  place  "  at  service  "  in  Lamoral  — 
the  Seigniory  of  Lamoral. 

The  automobile  was  coming  up  the  driveway. 
Underbrush  and  undergrowth  having  been  removed 
by  Cale,  I  caught  through  the  opening  the  bright 
gleam  of  its  acetylene  lamps.  It  stopped  at  the  door; 
I  could  not  distinguish  the  voices,  for  the  throb  of  its 
engine  continued.  A  moment  —  it  was  off  again.  I 
heard  the  front  door  open  and  close.  He  was  at  home 
and  alone. 

I  lighted  my  lamp;  opened  my  trunk  and  took 
from  the  bottom  the  journal,  the  two  blank  books. 
I  waited  a  few  minutes  till  I  heard  the  clock  in  the 
kitchen  strike  ten;  then,  softly  opening  my  door,  I 
went  down  the  corridor,  down  stairs  into  the  living- 
room,  now  wholly  dark,  and  moved  cautiously,  in  order 
not  to  stumble  against  the  furniture,  to  the  office 
door  which  was  closed.  I  rapped  softly.  It  was 
flung  wide  open.  The  Master  of  Lamoral  was  stand 
ing  on  the  threshold  of  the  brilliantly  lighted  room, 
with  both  hands  extended  to  welcome  me. 

"  I  was  waiting  for  you." 

But  I  did  not  give  him  mine.  Instead,  I  laid  the 
two  blank  books  in  his  outstretched  palms. 

"  What 's  this?  "  he  said,  surprised  and,  it  seemed, 
not  wholly  pleased. 

"  Something  of  me  I  want  you  to  give  your  whole 
attention  to  when  it  is  convenient;  it  is  my  way  of 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  317 

answering  those  personal  unput  questions.  Good 
night." 

He  looked  at  me  strangely  for  a  moment,  then  at 
the  books  in  his  two  hands,  as  if  doubtful  about  ac 
cepting  them  without  further  explanation  on  my  part. 

"  Good  night,"  I  said  again,  smiling  at  his  per 
plexity. 

"  I  suppose  it  must  be  good  night  to  one  part  of 
you,  the  corporal,  at  least;  but  not  to  this  other,"  he 
said,  with  an  answering  smile.  "  Who  knows  but  that  I 
may  say  good  morning  to  this?  "  —  indicating  the 
journal  —  "I  shall  not  sleep  until  I  have  read  it. 
So  good  night  to  this  part  of  you  standing  before  me 
—  and  thanks  for  giving  this  other  part  of  yourself 
into  my  hands." 

For  the  fraction  of  a  minute  I  hesitated  to  go.  It 
was  so  pleasant  standing  there  on  the  threshold  of  the 
room  I  had  furnished  for  him  —  the  room  that  found 
favor  with  every  one  who  entered  it;  so  pleasant  to 
know  that  he  and  I  were  alone  there  together  with 
the  intimate  recollection  of  the  afternoon  in  the  for 
est  between  us.  I  had  to  exercise  all  my  fortitude  of 
common  sense  to  rescue  me  from  overdoing  things, 
from  lingering  or  entering. 

I  beat  a  hurried  retreat  through  the  living-room. 
I  knew  that  he  was  still  standing  on  the  threshold,  for 
the  flood  of  light  from  the  office  was  undimmed.  The 
door  must  have  been  open  when  I  reached  the  upper 
landing  on  the  stairs;  then,  in  the  perfect  quiet  of 
the  darkened  house,  I  heard  him  shut  it  —  so  shutting 
himself  in  with  that  other  part  of  me. 

I  wondered  what  he  would  think  of  that  intangible 
presence?  Long  after  I  was  in  bed  I  could  not  sleep. 
Was  he  reading  it  through  by  course,  or  dipping  into 


318  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

it  here  and  there  as  I  did  on  that  night  nine  months 
ago?  Would  he,  could  he,  placed  as  he  was,  understand 
something  of  my  struggle? 

I  lost  myself  in  conjecture.  I  opened  my  door  a 
little  way,  for  a  "  cross  draft  ",  I  said  to  myself,  so 
lying  gently;  in  reality  it  was  to  enable  me  to  hear 
when  Mr.  Ewart  should  come  up  to  his  room.  I  lis 
tened  for  some  sound.  I  heard  nothing  but  the  in 
definite  murmur  of  summer-night  woodsy  whisperings. 
The  kitchen  clock  struck  the  time  for  four  successive 
hours  —  and  then  there  was  a  faint  heralding  of 
dawn.  At  three  the  woods  showed  dark  against 
the  sky.  My  straining  ears  caught  the  sound 
of  a  door  closing  somewhere  about  the  house.  I 
heard  the  soft  pattering  of  the  dogs  running  to  and 
fro  without  it  —  then  silence,  broken  only  by  a  cock 
crowing  lustily  out  beyond  the  barns. 

He  had  gone  out,  and  he  had  not  come  upstairs. 

Of  the  latter  I  made  sure  when  I  rose,  sleepy  and 
heavy-eyed,  at  seven  that  June  morning,  and  looked 
into  the  wide  open  door  of  his  room  in  passing.  He 
had  not  used  it. 

For  weeks,  yes,  for  months,  he  never  mentioned 
that  night  or  the  journal.  He  never  spoke  of  keeping 
or  returning  it.  So  far  as  I  actually  knew  he  might 
not  have  read  it;  but  I  was  aware  of  a  change  in  his 
manner  to  me.  His  kindness  and  thoughtfulness  for 
his  household  were  universal;  they  included  me. 
From  that  day,  however,  when  he  made  his  appear 
ance  at  breakfast,  immaculate  and  seemingly  as  fresh 
as  if  from  a  good  sleep,  I  became  the  object  of  his 
special  thought,  his  special  solicitude. 

I  was  sure  Cale  noticed  this  at  once.  It  dawned 
upon  Jamie  slowly  but  surely,  and  a  more  be\vildered 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  319 

youth  I  have  never  seen.  I  knew  he  was  trying  to 
rhyme  ever  present  facts  with  my  sentiment  about 
leaving  Lamoral  as  expressed  to  him  so  recently.  Mrs. 
Macleod,  if  she  perceived  the  change  in  Mr.  Ewart's 
manner  towards  me,  gave  no  sign  that  she  did  — 
and  I  was  grateful  to  her.  She  and  I  were  much  to 
gether,  for  we  were  busy  getting  ready  for  the  camp 
outing.  We  were  to  start  within  ten  days.  The 
Doctor  wrote  me  that  he  envied  me  the  extra  four 
weeks;  he  promised  his  friend  to  be  with  him  the  first 
of  August. 

When  all  was  in  readiness,  Mr.  Ewart,  with  the  load 
of  camp  belongings,  left  three  days  in  advance  of  us. 
We  were  to  meet  him  at  Roberval. 


XXVII 

IN  the  wilds  of  the  Upper  Saguenay!  By  the  lake 
that,  in  this  narration  at  least,  shall  have  no 
name.  It  is  long,  narrow,  winding  at  its  southern 
extremity;  at  its  northern,  it  is  expanded  pool-like 
among  forest-covered  heights  the  reflection  of  which 
darkens  and  apparently  deepens  it  where  its  waters 
touch  the  marginal  wilderness!  In  camp  by  the 
margin  of  the  lake,  beneath  some  ancient  pines,  rare 
in  that  region,  and  surrounded  by  the  spicy  frag 
rance  of  balsam,  spruce  and  cedar,  that  came  to  us 
warm  from  the  depths  of  the  seemingly  illimitable 
forest  behind  us! 

What  a  day,  that  one  of  our  arrival!  We  journeyed 
by  steamer  across  Lake  St.  John.  We  came  by 
canoe  on  the  river,  by  portage;  and  again  by  canoe 
on  river  or  lake,  as  it  happened.  We  camped  for  one 
night  in  the  open.  On  the  second  day  there  were 
several  portages;  many  of  our  camp  belongings  were 
borne  on  the  backs  of  sturdy  Montagnais,  friends  of 
old  Andre,  and  led  by  Andre  the  Second,  a  strapping 
youth  of  sixty.  There  followed  a  journey  of  nine 
miles  up  the  lake,  our  lake;  and,  then,  at  last,  in 
the  glow  of  sunset,  we  had  sight  of  old  Andre  coming 
to  welcome  us  in  his  canoe  that  floated,  a  "  brown 
leaf  ",  on  the  golden  waters!  I  heard  the  soft  gra 
ting  of  the  seven  keels  on  the  clear  shining  yellow 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  321 

sands  of  a  tiny  cove  —  and  Mr.  Ewart  was  first 
ashore,  helping  each  of  us  out,  welcoming  each  to 
this  special  bit  of  his  beloved  Canadian  earth. 

"  Our  home  for  ten  weeks,  Miss  Farrell,"  he  ex 
claimed,  giving  me  both  hands.  "  Steady  with  your 
foot  —  you  must  learn  to  know  the  caprices  of  your 
own  canoe  —  " 

"  My  own?  " 

"  Yes,  this  is  yours  for  the  season;  we  don't  poach 
much  on  one  another's  canoe  preserves  here  in  Can 
ada.  This  is  our  fleet." 

"  The  whole  seven?  " 

"  Yes;  Andre  the  First  and  Andre  the  Second  have 
three  between  them,  big  ones;  you,  Jamie  and  I  have 
one  each,  and  there  is  one  for  Mrs.  Macleod  if  she  will 
do  me  the  honor  of  allowing  me  to  teach  her  to 
paddle." 

"  This  is  great,  mother!  "  said  Jamie  who  had  not 
ceased  to  wring  old  Andre's  hand  since  the  two  found 
firm  footing.  "  But  first  I  must  teach  her  to  swim, 
Ewart." 

Poor  Mrs.  Macleod!  I  doubt  if  her  idea  of  camping 
out  was  wholly  rose-colored  at  that  moment,  for  she 
was  tired  with  the  excitement,  and  constant  travel  in 
canoe  and  on  foot  of  the  last  two  days. 

"  The  camp  will  be  the  safest  place  for  me  at  pres 
ent,"  she  said,  trying  to  appear  cheerful,  but  glancing 
ruefully  at  the  three  rough  board  huts,  gray  and 
weather  beaten. 

"  You  've  done  nobly,  Mrs.  Macleod,  I  appreciate 
your  effort;  and  if  you  '11  take  immediate  possession 
of  the  right  hand  camp  —  it 's  yours  and  Miss  Far- 
rell's  —  I  hope  you  will  find  a  little  comfort  even  in 
this  wilderness.  I  '11  just  settle  with  these  Monta- 


322  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

gnais  comrades,  for  after  supper  they  will  be  on  their 
way  back  to  Roberval."  Jamie  interrupted  him  to 
say: 

"  Mother,  here  's  Andre,  Andre,  mon  vieux  cama- 
rade.  This  is  my  mother,  Andre;  I  told  you  about 
her  last  year." 

Old  Andre's  hand,  apparently  as  steady  as  her  own, 
was  extended  to  meet  Mrs.  Macleod's.  I  saw  how 
expressive  was  that  handclasp.  The  only  words  she 
spoke  were  in  her  rather  halting  French: 

"  My  son's  comrade  —  he  is  mine,  I  hope,  Andre." 

What  a  smile  illumined  that  parchment  face!  It 
was  good  to  see  in  the  wilderness;  it  was  humanly 
comprehensive  of  the  entire  situation. 

"  This  is  Miss  Farrell,"  said  Jamie;  "  she  lives  with 
us,  Andre,  in  Lamoral." 

Never  shall  I  forget  the  look,  the  voice,  the  words 
with  which  he  made  me  welcome. 

"  I  have  waited  many  years  for  you  to  come.  I 
am  content,  moi." 

He  heaved  a  long  sigh  of  satisfaction.  I  think  only 
Mrs.  Macleod  heard  the  words,  for  Jamie  had  run  up 
to  the  camp.  Andre  took  our  special  suit  cases  and 
carried  them  to  the  hut. 

We  took  possession  and  found  everything  needed 
for  our  comfort.  Tired  as  we  were,  we  could  not  rest 
until  we  had  unpacked  and  settled  ourselves  with 
something  like  regularity  for  the  night.  And,  oh, 
that  first  supper  in  the  open!  The  sun  was  setting 
behind  the  forest;  the  lake  waters,  touched  with  faint 
color  on  the  farther  shore,  were  without  a  ripple;  the 
ancient  pines  above  us  quiet.  And,  oh,  that  first 
deep  sleep  on  my  bed  of  balsam  spruce!  Oh,  that 
first  awakening  in  the  early  morning,  the  glory  of 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  323 

sunrise,  the  sparkle  and  dance  of  the  lake  waters  in 
my  eyes! 

Oh,  that  joy  of  living!  I  experienced  it  then  in  its 
fulness  for  the  first  time ;  and  my  sleep  was  more  re 
freshing,  my  awakening  more  joyful,  because  of  the 
near  presence  of  the  man  I  loved  with  all  my  heart. 

It  was  a  new  heaven  for  me  —  because  it  was  a  new 
earth ! 

While  dressing  that  first  morning,  Andre's  wel 
coming  words  came  back  to  me:  "  I  have  waited 
many  years  for  you  to  come."  And  the  look  on  his 
face.  What  did  he  mean?  I  recalled  that  Jamie 
quoted  him,  almost  in  those  very  words,  when  he  told 
us  of  that  episode  of  "  forest  love  "  which  bore  fruit 
in  the  wilderness  of  the  Upper  Saguenay. 

Why  should  he  welcome  me  with  just  those  words? 
How  many  years  had  he  "  waited  "  ?  Had  there  been 
no  woman  in  camp  since  then?  It  was  hardly  pos 
sible.  I  determined  to  ask  Mr.  Ewart,  as  soon  as 
I  should  have  the  opportunity,  if  there  had  been 
women  here  before  us,  and  to  question  Andre,  also, 
as  to  what  he  meant  by  his  words,  but  not  until  I 
should  know  him  better.  He  would  tell  me. 

And  Andre  told  me,  but  it  was  after  long  weeks  of 
intimate  acquaintance  with  the  forest  and  with  each 
other;  after  the  fact  that  I  was  becoming  all  in  all 
to  the  master  of  Lamoral,  was  patent  to  each  of  my 
friends  in  camp.  I  saw  no  attempt  on  Mr.  Ewart's 
part  to  hide  this  fact.  I  believe  I  should  have  de 
spised  him  if  he  had.  Yet  never  once  during  those 
first  five  weeks  did  he  mention  my  journal.  Rarely 
was  I  alone  with  him ;  twice  only  on  the  trails  through 
the  forest;  once  in  the  canoe  to  the  lower  end  of  the 
lake  and  on  the  return;  that  was  all.  Never  a  word  of 


324  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

love  crossed  his  lips  —  but  his  thought  of  me,  his 
manner,  his  care  of  me,  his  provision  for  my  enjoy 
ment  of  each  day,  his  delight  in  my  delight  in  his 
"  camp  ",  his  pleasure  in  the  fact  that  I  was  not  only 
regaining  what  I  had  lost  by  the  fearful  illness  of 
the  year  before  —  Doctor  Rugvie  told  him  of  that  — 
but  storing  up  within  my  not  over  powerful  body, 
balm,  sunshine,  ozone,  and  health  abundant  for  the 
future. 

And  what  did  I  not  learn  from  him!  And  from 
Andre  with  whom  I  spent  hours  out  of  every  day  ! 
What  forest  lore;  what  ways  of  cunning  from  the  shy 
forest  dwellers;  what  tricks  of  line  and  bait  for  the 
capricious  trout,  the  pugnacious  ouananiche,  the  lazy 
pickerel!  What  haunts  of  beaver  I  was  shown!  How 
I  watched  them  by  the  hour,  lying  prone  in  my  Khaki 
suit  of  drilling,  — -  short  skirt,  high  laced-boots,  —  my 
feminine  "  bottes  sauvages  "  as  Andre  called  them, 
—  and  bloomers,  —  from  some  cedar  covert. 

Those  five  weeks  were  one  long  dream-reality  of 
forest  life,  and  this  was  despite  flies  and  mosquitoes 
which  we  treated  in  a  scientific  manner. 

One  of  the  Montagnais  brought  us  the  mail  once 
a  week  from  Roberval.  The  first  of  August  he 
brought  up  a  telegram  that  announced  the  Doctor 
would  be  with  us  the  next  day.  Mr.  Ewart  decided  to 
meet  him  at  the  last  portage.  Andre  the  Second  went 
with  him.  They  would  be  back  just  after  dark  that 
same  day,  he  said.  Andre  the  First  was  left  to  reign 
supreme  in  camp  during  his  absence. 

"  I  am  only  as  old  as  my  heart,  mademoiselle;  you 
know  that  is  young,  and  you  make  it  younger  while 
you  are  here,"  he  said  that  afternoon,  when  he  and  I 
were  trimming  the  camp  with  forest  greens  for  the 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  325 

Doctor's  coming,  and  Jamie  was  laying  a  beacon  pile 
near  the  shore,  just  north  of  the  camp  where  there 
was  no  underbrush  or  trees.  Andre  told  us  its  light 
could  be  seen  far  down  the  lake. 

After  supper  I  lay  down  in  my  hammock-couch, 
swung  beneath  the  pines  at  the  back  of  the  camp. 
As  I  rocked  there  in  the  twilight,  counting  off  the 
minutes  of  waiting  by  my  heartbeats,  I  heard  Jamie 
and  Andre  talking  as  they  smoked  together,  and 
rested  after  the  exertions  of  the  day. 

"  How  came  you  to  think  of  it,  Andre?  " 

"  How  came  le  bon  Dieu  to  give  me  eyes  —  and 
sight  like  a  hawk?  " 

"  But  why  are  you  so  sure?  " 

"  Why?  Because  what  I  see,  I  see.  What  I  hear, 
I  hear.  It  is  the  same  voice  I  hear  in  the  forest;  the 
same  laugh  like  the  little  forest  brook;  the  same  face 
that  used  to  look  at  itself  in  the  pool  and  smile  at 
what  it  saw  there ;  the  same  eyes  —  non,  they  are 
different.  I  found  those  others  in  the  wood  violets; 
these  match  the  young  chestnuts  just  breaking  from 
the  burrs  after  the  first  frost." 

"  But,  Andre,  it  was  so  many  years  ago." 

"  To  me  it  is  as  yesterday,  when  I  see  her  pad 
dling  the  canoe  and  swaying  like  a  reed  in  the  gentle 
wind." 

"  And  you  never  knew  her  name?  " 

"  No.  She  was  his  '  little  bird  ',  his  '  wood-dove  ' 
to  him;  and  to  her  he  was  '  mon  maitre  ',  always  that 
-  '  my  master  '  you  say  in  English  which  I  have  for 
gotten,  so  long  I  am  in  the  woods.  They  were  so 
happy  —  it  was  always  so  with  them." 

There  was  a  few  minutes  of  silence,  then  Jamie 
spoke. 


326  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

"  Has  Mr.  Ewart  ever  spoken  to  you  about  what 
you  told  us  that  night  in  camp,  Andre  —  about  that 
1  forest  love  '  ?  " 

"  No,  the  seignior  has  never  spoken,  but,"  -  he 
puffed  vigorously  at  his  pipe,  —  "he  has  no  need  to 
speak  of  it;  he  thinks  it  now." 

"  Why,  now?  "  There  was  eager  curiosityin Jamie's 
voice,  and  I  knew  well  in  what  direction  his  thoughts 
were  headed.  I  smiled  to  myself,  and  listened  as 
eagerly  as  he  for  Andre's  answer. 

"  I  have  eyes  that  see;  it  is  again  the  '  forest  love  ' 
with  him  - 

"  Again?  "  Jamie  interrupted  him;  his  voice  was 
suddenly  a  sharp  staccato.  "  What  do  you  mean  by 
that?  " 

"  I  mean  what  I  say.  The  forest  knows  its  own. 
She  has  come  again ;  and  my  old  eyes,  that  still  see  like 
the  hawk,  are  glad  at  the  sight  of  her  — -  and  of  him. 
Have  I  not  prayed  all  these  years  that  Our  Lady 
of  the  Snows  might  bless  her  —  and  her  child  ?  "  There 
was  no  mistaking  the  emphasis  on  the  last  words. 

"  Andre,"  -  Jamie's  voice  dropped  to  an  excited 
whisper,  but  I  caught  it,  —  "  you  mean  that?  " 

"  I  mean  that,"  he  said. 

I  heard  him  rise ;  I  heard  his  steps  soft  on  the  cedar- 
strewn  path.  Jamie  must  have  followed  him,  for  in  a 
moment  I  heard  him  calling  from  the  shore: 

"  Mother,  Marcia,  come  on!  Andre  says  it  's  time 
to  light  the  beacon." 

I  joined  Mrs.  Macleod,  and  in  the  dusk  we  made 
our  way  over  to  the  pile  of  wood. 

"  You  are  to  light  it,  mademoiselle,"  said  Andre, 
handing  me  the  flaming  pine  knot.  I  obeyed  mechani 
cally,  for  Andre's  words  were  filling  all  the  night  with 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  327 

confusing  sounds  that  seemed  to  echo  conflictingly 
from  shore  to  shore. 

"  Just  here,  by  the  birch  bark,  mademoiselle." 

The  beacon  caught;  there  was  no  wind.  The  bark 
snapped,  curled  and  shrivelled;  the  branches  crackled; 
the  little  flames  leaped,  the  fire  crept  higher  and 
higher  till  it  lighted  our  faces  and  the  waters  in  the 
foreground.  We  waited  and  watched  till  we  heard  a 
faint  "  hurrah  ",  and  soon,  in  the  distance,  a  calcium 
light  burned  red  and  long.  We  went  down  again  to 
the  cove.  Jamie  was  with  his  mother;  I  walked  be 
hind  with  Andre. 

"  Andre,"  I  whispered  to  him,  "  when  you  first 
saw  me  you  said,  '  I  have  waited  many  years  for  you 
to  come  '.  Why  did  you  say  that?  " 

"  Why?    Because  I  desired  to  speak  the  truth." 

"  Am  I  like  some  one  you  have  seen  before  ?   Tell  me . ' ' 

"  Yes." 

"  Who  was  she?  " 

"  I  do  not  know." 

"  Will  you  tell  me  sometime  what  you  do  know  of 
her?  " 

"  Yes,  I  will  tell  you." 

"  Soon?  " 

"  When  you  will?  " 

"  To-morrow?  " 

"  As  you  please.  I  will  take  you  to  the  tree,  my 
tree  —  and  to  hers;  you  shall  see  for  yourself." 

"  Thank  you,  Andre." 

"  I  must  watch  the  fire,"  he  said,  and  retraced  his 
steps.  Dear  old  Andre !  It  was  such  a  pleasure  to  be 
able  to  talk  with  him  in  his  own  tongue. 

We  heard  the  dip  of  the  paddles,  a  call  —  our  camp 
call.  In  a  few  minutes  the  Doctor  was  with  us. 


328  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

I  made  excuse  the  next  afternoon  to  go  fishing  with 
Andre.  I  kept  saying  to  myself: 

"  This  thing  is  impossible;  there  can  be  no  connec 
tion  between  me  and  any  woman  who  may  have  been 
here  in  camp,  and  Mr.  Ewart  says  several  have  been 
here  to  his  knowledge.  What  if  I  do  look  like  some 
other  woman  who,  years  ago,  lived  and  loved  here  in 
this  wilderness?  What  have  I  to  do  with  her?  I  '11 
settle  this  matter  once  for  all  and  to  my  satisfaction; 
Andre  will  tell  me.  He  is  romantic;  and  that  girl 
made  a  deep  impression  on  him,  especially  in  those 
circumstances.  Now  the  thought  of  her  has  become 
a  fixed  idea." 

The  Doctor  sulked  a  little  because  he  was  not  of 
my  party. 

"  I  don't  approve  of  your  solitude  a  deux  parties; 
they  're  against  camp  rules." 

"  Just  for  this  once.  Andre  is  going  to  show  me 
something  I  have  wanted  to  see  ever  since  I  came." 

He  was  still  growling  after  I  was  in  the  canoe. 

"  Only  this  once!  "  I  cried,  waving  my  hand  to  him 
before  we  dipped  the  paddles. 

"  She  used  to  wave  her  hand  like  that,"  said  Andre, 
paddling  slowly  until  I  got  well  regulated  to  his  — 
what  I  called  —  rhythm. 

I  stared  at  him.  Was  this  an  obsession  with  him? 
It  began  to  look  like  it. 

We  landed  on  the  north  shore  of  the  lake.  I  fol 
lowed  him  along  a  trail,  that  led  through  a  depression 
between  two  heights,  upwards  to  a  heavily  wooded 
small  plateau  overlooking  the  lake.  I  followed  his 
lead  for  another  quarter  of  a  mile  through  these 
woods.  I  could  see  no  trail.  Then  we  came  into  a 
path,  a  good  one.  I  remarked  on  it. 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  329 

"  Yes:  I  have  made  it  these  many  years.  I  come 
here  every  year." 

We  heard  the  rush  of  a  near-by  torrent.  The  air 
swept  cool  over  through  the  woods  and  struck 
full  on  our  faces.  In  a  few  minutes  we  were 
facing  it  —  a  singing  mass  of  water  pouring  down  the 
smooth  face  of  a  rock  like  the  apron  of  a  dam;  the 
face  was  inclined  at  an  angle  of  fifty  degrees.  The 
torrent  plunged  into  a  basin  set  deep  among  rocks. 
Above  this  pool,  above  the  surrounding  trees,  towered 
one  great  pine.  Andre  led  me  to  it. 

"  I  have  been  coming  here  so  many  years  —  count," 
he  said,  pointing  to  the  notches  from  the  butt  upwards 
to  a  height  beyond  my  reach. 

This  was  the  tree  about  which  Jamie  had  sung, 
notched  year  after  year  by  Andre,  since  he  was  ten, 
that  he  might  know  his  age.  And  what  an  age!  I 
counted:  "  Eighty  notches." 

"  Oh,  Andre,  all  those  years?  " 

"  But  yes  —  and  so  many  more."  He  held  up  his 
ten  fingers. 

"  And  Mere  Guillardeau  will  be  a  hundred  her  next 
birthday?  " 

He  nodded.  "  Yes;  my  sister  is  no  longer  in  her 
first  youth." 

He  began  to  count  backwards  and  downwards.  I 
counted  after  him:  "Twenty-seven."  By  the  last 
notch  there  was  a  deep  gash. 

"  What  is  this?  " 

"  Twenty-seven  years  ago  she  was  here,  she 
whom  you  are  like.  I  have  waited  twenty-seven 
years." 

"  Tell  me  about  it;  I  am  ready  to  hear." 

"  Come  here."    He  beckoned  to  me  from  a  group  of 


33°  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

trees,  tamaracks,  on  the  other  side  of  the  path.  He 
went  behind  one.  I  followed  him. 

"  Read,"  he  said.  And  I  read  with  difficulty,  al 
though  the  lettering  was  cut  deep,  one  word  "  Heu- 
reuse  ",  and  a  date  "  1883.  9.  10." 

"  '  Heureuse  ',''  I  repeated.  "  Happy  —  happy; 
oh,  I  know  how  happy!  " 

He  looked  at  me  significantly  for  a  moment,  and 
I  knew  that  his  "  fixed  idea  "  had  possession  of  him. 
He  regarded  me,  Marcia  Farrell,  as  the  child  of  that 
"  forest  love  "  of  nearly  twenty-seven  years  ago. 

"  You  say  true;  they  were  happy."  Without  pre 
liminaries  he  told  me  the  story  he  had  related  to  Mr. 
Ewart  and  Jamie  last  year. 

"  Has  Mr.  Ewart  or  Jamie  ever  seen  this  tree, 
Andre?  " 

"  No.  I  have  told  them  both  of  my  tree  and  the 
notches  —  but  never  of  this  other.  You  are  the  first 
to  see  it  since  her  blue  eyes  watched  him  cut  those 
letters.  I  have  shown  it  to  neither  my  young  comrade 
nor  to  the  seignior." 

"  And  you  say  I  am  so  like  her?  " 

"  As  like  as  if  you  were  her  own  child?  " 

He  put  up  his  hand  suddenly  to  "  feel  the  wind  ". 
There  was  a  sudden  strange  movement  among  the 
treetops. 

"  Come,  come  quickly,  mademoiselle;  we  must  get 
back.  The  wind  is  shifting  to  the  southwest.  It  is 
blowing  hot.  I  know  the  sign.  The  seignior  will  not 
want  you  to  be  out  even  with  old  Andre  with  this 
wind  on  the  lake." 

I  looked  at  the  pool;  it  was  black.  The  singing 
waters  of  the  torrent  showed  unearthly  white  against 
the  intensified  green.  The  sky  became  suddenly 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  331 

overcast  with  swiftly  moving  clouds.  In  a  moment 
the  wind  was  all  about  us;  the  sound  of  its  going 
through  the  forest  filled  the  air  with  a  confused  roar. 
The  great  trees  were  already  swaying,  as  we  ran  down 
the  trail  to  the  lake  —  and  found  Mr.  Ewart  just 
drawing  his  canoe  and  ours  high  up  and  away  from  the 
already  uneasy  water.  He  was  breathing  quickly. 

"  There  's  a  storm  coming,  Andre  —  we  saw  it 
from  the  other  side  of  the  lake;  coming  hard,  too,  from 
the  southwest.  The  lake  will  not  be  safe  till  it  is 
over.  We  will  stay  here  in  the  open  even  if  we  get 
wet.  It  is  not  safe  in  the  woods;  the  trees  are  already 
breaking.  I  hear  the  crash  of  the  branches." 

"  And   the   seignior   did   not    trust    mademoiselle 

with  me?  "    Evidently  he  was  disgruntled.    "  True, 

I  am  no  longer  in  my  first  youth  "  (I  saw  Mr.  Ewart 

suppress  a  smile),  "  but  years  give  caution,  seignior 

—  and  I  have  many  more  than  you." 

Mr.  Ewart  laughed  pleasantly.  The  sound  of  it 
dissipated  Andre's  anger  —  the  quick  resentment  of 
old  age. 

"  True,  mon  vieux  camarade,  you  have  the  years; 
but  I  stand  between  you  and  mademoiselle  when  it 
comes  to  a  matter  of  years.  I  must  care  for  you 
both." 

"  I  am  content  that  it  should  be  so,  moi."  He 
squatted  by  the  canoes  which  he  lashed  to  a  small 
boulder. 

No  rain  fell,  but  the  wind  was  terrific  in  its  force. 
We  were  obliged  to  lie  flat  on  the  sand.  The  air  was 
filled  with  confused  torrents  of  sound,  so  deafening 
that  we  could  not  make  ourselves  heard  one  to  the 
other.  It  was  over  in  ten  minutes.  The  sky  cleared, 
the  sun  shone;  the  lake  waters  subsided;  the  sounds 


332  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

died  away,  and  very  suddenly.  In  the  minute's  calm 
that  followed  it  seemed  as  if,  in  all  that  land,  there 
were  no  stirring  of  a  leaf,  a  twig,  or  fin  of  fish,  or  wing 
of  fowl.  There  was  again  a  sudden  change  of  wind, 
and  we  knew  the  very  moment  when  the  upper  air 
currents,  cool  and  crisp  with  a  touch  of  Arctic  frost, 
swept  down  upon  the  earth  and  brought  refreshment. 
In  another  quarter  of  an  hour  there  was  no  trace  of 
the  storm  on  the  lake;  but  behind  us,  on  each  side 
of  the  trail,  we  saw  great  trees  uprooted. 

"  I  can  leave  you  and  Andre  now,  and  with  a  clear 
conscience,  to  your  fishing,"  he  said,  as  he  ran  down 
his  canoe. 

I  felt  positively  grateful  to  him  for  not  insisting  on 
taking  me  back  with  him;  it  would  have  hurt  old 
Andre's  pride  as  well  as  feelings. 

"  We  '11  bring  home  fish  enough  for  supper,"  I  said 
with  fine  amateur  assurance. 

"  I  warn  you  '  We  are  seven  '  plus  the  two  Mon- 
tagnais;  they  stay  to-night." 

"  If  I  don't  make  good,  Andre  will."  And  Andre 
smiled  in  what  I  thought  a  particularly  significant  way. 

We  watched  the  swift  course  of  his  canoe  over  the 
lake.  Just  as  he  was  about  to  round  a  small  promon 
tory,  that  would  hide  him  from  our  sight,  he  stood 
up,  and  swung  the  dripping  paddle  high  above  his 
head.  I  waved  my  hand  in  answering  greeting. 

Andre  turned  to  me  with  a  smile.  "  The  seignior 
has  a  look  of  that  other  —  but  he  is  not  the  same." 

What  an  obsession  it  was  with  this  man  of  ninety! 
I  watched  him  preparing  lines  and  bait.  The  canoe 
had  passed  from  sight. 

"  Andre,"  I  said,  speaking  on  the  impulse  of  the 
moment,  "  I  want  to  go  back  to  camp." 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  333 

"  As  you  please,  mademoiselle.  I  can  fish  on  that 
side  as  well  as  this."  Upon  that  he  put  up  his  pipe, 

- 1  verily  believe  it  was  still  alive  and  his  pockets 
must  have  been  lined  with  asbestos,  —  and  we  em 
barked  on  our  little  voyage. 

I  used  my  paddle  mechanically,  for  I  was  think 
ing:  "Is  it  for  one  moment  probable  I  have  any 
connection  with  that  girl?  Is  that  past,  I  am  trying 
so  hard  to  eliminate  from  my  life,  to  present  itself 
here  as  a  quantity  with  which  I  must  reckon  —  here 
in  my  life  in  this  wilderness?  Is  there  no  avoiding  it? 
Andre  is  so  sure.  Jamie  knows  he  is  sure;  Mr.  Ewart 
knows  this  too.  They  can  say  nothing  to  me  about 
it  —  it  is  a  matter  of  such  delicacy;  and  they  do  not 
know  who  I  am;  even  my  journal  does  not  tell  that, 
and  I  knew  this  when  I  gave  it  into  his  hands. 

"  But  the  Doctor  —  he  knows.  He  knows  from 
Cale  and  Delia  Beaseley.  He  knows  who  I  am;  in 
all  probability  knows  this  very  day,  from  those  papers 
in  his  possession,  my  father's  name;  but  he  knows 
nothing  of  this  new  complication  that  Andre  has 
brought  about  by  his  insistence  that  I  am  like  some 
woman  who  camped  here  many  years  ago  — 

"  Twenty-seven  years!  That  must  have  been  just 
before  I  was  born  —  and  the  date  —  and  that  word 
'  heureuse  '  with  a  queer  capital  H  —  oh  — 

Perhaps  it  was  a  groan  that  escaped  my  lips,  for, 
like  a  searchlight,  the  logic  of  events  illumined  each 
factor  in  that  tragedy  in  which  my  mother  — 

My  paddle  fouled  —  the  canoe  careened  - 

"  Sit  still,  for  the  love  of  God,  sit  still!  "  Andre 
fairly  shrieked  at  me. 

"  It 's  all  right,  Andre,"  I  said  quietly,  to  calm  him. 

"  They  say  the  lake  has  no  bottom  just  here,  made- 


334  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

moiselle  —  and  if  I  had  lost  you  for  him  —  "he  mut 
tered,  and  continued  to  mutter,  easing  himself  of  his 
fright  by  swearing  softly.  He  soon  regained  his 
composure;  but  was  still  frowning  when  I  glanced 
behind  me. 

What  had  this  searchlight  shown  me? 

Just  this:  —  that  "  heureuse  "  is  French  for  happy 
—  and  the  capital  made  it  a  proper  name,  "  Happy  ". 
This  word  told  me  its  own  story.  According  to  what 
Cale  had  said  —  and  I  had  all  detailed  information 
from  him  —  no  trace  of  my  mother  was  found  al 
though  detectives  had  been  put  to  work.  She  had 
simply  dropped  out  of  sight,  not  to  come  to  the 
surface  until  that  night  in  December  when  she  tried 
to  end  her  young  life  from  the  North  River  pier.  Was 
she  not  for  a  part  of  that  year  and  three  months  here 
in  these  wilds? 

Oh,  what  a  far,  far  cry  it  must  have  been  from 
this  Canadian  wilderness  not  made  by  man,  to  that 
other  hundreds  of  miles  away — that  great  metropolis, 
man  made! 

We  paddled  for  the  rest  of  the  way  in  silence. 

That  evening  we  sat  late  around  the  camp  fire,  and 
before  we  separated  for  the  night  Mr.  Ewart  said, 
turning  to  me: 

"  I  want  a  promise  from  you,  Miss  Farrell." 

"  What  is  it?  " 

"  Caution,  caution!  "  said  the  Doctor. 

"  That  you  will  make  no  more  solitude  a  deux  ex 
cursions,  as  John  calls  them,  with  old  Andre.  He  is 
old,  despite  his  seeming  strength,  and  his  age  is  be 
ginning  to  tell  on  him.  I  see  that  he  has  failed  much 
since  last  year." 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  335 

"  You  're  right  there,  Gordon ;  she  should  not  risk 
it  with  him,"  said  Jamie,  emphatically.  "  I  've  no 
ticed  the  change  from  last  year  when  I  have  been  out 
with  him  on  the  trails.  Why,  he  fell  asleep  only  the 
other  day  with  his  line  in  his  hand  and  his  bait  in  the 
water!  " 

"  Did  you  see  that?  "  said  Mr.  Ewart.  "  It  hap 
pened,  too,  the  other  day  with  me.  I  was  amazed,  but 
not  so  much  as  I  was  last  week  when  we  were  in  the 
woods  making  the  north  trail.  He  sat  down  to  smoke 
and,  actually,  his  pipe  dropped  from  his  hand.  I  trod 
out  the  fire  or  there  would  have  been  a  blaze.  Ap 
parently  he  was  asleep.  I  watched  him  for  an  hour, 
when  he  seemed  to  come  to  himself.  It  was  not  a 
sleep;  it  was  a  lethargy.  You  say  it  is  often  so,  John 
-  the  beginning  of  the  end.  We  must  not  let  him 
know  anything  of  this  —  dear  old  Andre!  " 

"  He  is  already  immortalized  in  that  Odyssey  of 
yours,  Jamie.  People  won't  forget  him,  for  he  lives 
again  in  that."  The  Doctor  spoke  with  deep  feeling. 

"  And  your  promise,  Miss  Farrell?  " 

"  Since  you  insist,  yes.  But  it  is  hard  to  give  it; 
we  have  had  so  much  pleasure  together  Andre  and 
I;  we  have  been  great  chums  —  dear  old  Andre!" 
Unconsciously  I  echoed  Mr.  Ewart's  words. 

I  am  sure  that  was  the  thought  of  all  of  us;  our 
good  nights  were  not  the  merry  ones  of  the  last  two 
months.  We  were  saddened  at  the  thought  that  he 
might  not  be  with  us  again. 

For  a  moment  or  two  Mr.  Ewart  and  I  stood  alone 
by  the  embers  of  the  camp  fire;  he  was  covering  them 
with  ashes. 

"  Thank  you  for  your  promise.  I  don't  care  about 
experiencing  another  hour  like  that  when  I  was  cross- 


336  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

ing  the  lake  this  afternoon,  with  a  young  cyclone  on 
its  way.  I  have  lost  so  much  of  life  —  I  cannot  lose 
you." 

His  speech  was  abrupt;  his  voice  low,  but  tense  with 
emotion. 

' '  There  will  be  no  need  of  losing  me.  I  will  keep  my 
promise."  I  spoke  lightly,  but  I  knew  he  knew  the 
significance  of  my  words,  as  I  knew  that  of  his,  for 
with  those  words  I  gave  myself  to  him.  I  felt 
intuitively  that  he  would  not  speak  of  love  to  me, 
until  he  had  broken  completely  with  that  past  to 
which  in  thought  he  was  still,  in  part,  a  slave.  I  was 
willing  to  wait  patiently  for  his  entire  emancipation. 


xxvm 

"~\    /TARCIA,"  said   the   Doctor   one   morning, 

V  I     a^ter   ^e   k&d  keen  enJ°yin&'  aPParently, 

every  minute  of    his  vacation-life  in  the 

open,  "  will  you  come  with  me  over  the  north  trail  as 

far  as  Ewart  and  Andre  have  made  it?  I  want  to  show 

you  something  I  found  there  the  other  day." 

Before  I  could  answer,  Jamie  spoke: 

"  How  about  your  solitude  a  deux  principle,  Doc 
tor?  " 

"  It  is  wise  to  forget  sometimes,  Boy.  Will  you 
come  this  morning,  Marcia?  " 

I  promptly  said  I  would.  I  saw  that  he  was  slightly 
ruffled  at  Jamie's  innocent  jest;  indeed,  ever  since 
his  arrival,  the  Doctor  had  not  been  wholly  like  his 
genial  self.  Mrs.  Macleod  noticed  it  and  spoke  of  it 
to  me. 

"  We  don't  realize,  when  we  see  him  enjoying  every 
thing  with  the  zest  of  a  boy,  how  much  he  has  on  his 
mind.  He  told  me  the  other  day  he  must  cut  his  vaca 
tion  short;  he  is  called  to  the  Pacific  coast  for  some 
of  his  special  work." 

I  said  nothing  at  the  time,  because  I  could  not  agree 
with  her.  I  noticed  that,  at  times,  there  was  a  slight 
constraint  in  his  manner  towards  me  —  me  who  was 
willing  for  him  to  know  all  there  was  to  know,  except 
the  fact  that  I  loved  his  friend.  I  was  convinced  that 
he  wanted  to  air  his  special  knowledge  of  me  with 


338  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

me  alone;  that  after  he  had  freed  his  mind  to  me, 
there  would  be  no  constraint. 

Twice  I  caught  him  looking  at  Mr.  Ewart,  as  if  he 
were  diagnosing  his  case,  and  I  laughed  inwardly. 
From  time  to  time  I  surprised  the  same  expression  on 
his  face  when  he  was  silent,  smoking  and,  at  the  same 
time,  watching  me  weave  my  baskets  under  the  tute 
lage  of  a  Montagnaise,  the  squaw  of  our  postman. 
Mr.  Ewart  heard  me  express  the  wish  to  learn  this 
handicraft,  and  within  a  week  my  teacher  was  pro 
vided.  She  remained  in  camp  five  days.  Perhaps 
this  opened  the  Doctor's  eyes."  Perhaps  Jamie  had 
spoken  with  him  about  what  was  evident  to  all.  The 
Doctor  grew  more  and  more  silent,  more  thoughtful, 
less  inclined  to  jest  with  me.  Added  to  this  was  the 
thought  that  we  must  break  camp  sooner  than  Mr. 
Ewart  had  intended.  The  "  homing  sense "  was 
making  itself  felt,  for  September  was  with  us.  We 
saw  some  land  birds  going  over  early,  and  the  first 
frost  was  a  heavy  one. 

The  Doctor  and  I  followed  the  north  trail  for  half  a 
mile;  then  the  Doctor  bade  me  rest,  for  it  was  rough 
going. 

"  Marcia,"  he  said  abruptly,  sitting  down  in  front 
of  me,  his  back  against  a  tree,  his  hands  clasping  his 
knees,  "  let 's  have  it  out." 

I  saw  he  felt  ill  at  ease  and  could  but  wonder,  for, 
after  all,  it  was  only  I  with  whom  he  had  to  deal. 

"  I  am  ready.  I  Ve  only  been  waiting  for  you  all 
these  weeks." 

"  Do  you  know  that  I  have  been  to  Delia  Beaseley 
for  certain  information?  " 

"  Yes;  she  wrote  me.  I  wrote  her  to  tell  you  all 
she  knew  of  me." 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  339 

He  seemed  to  breathe  more  freely  after  my  speak 
ing  so  frankly,  as  if  I  really  would  welcome  anything 
he  might  have  to  say. 

"Ah  —  this  clears  the  atmosphere;  we  can  talk. 
Of  course,  you  know  with  Gale's  story  dovetailing  so 
perfectly  into  what  I  told  you  on  my  first  making 
acquaintance  with  you,  I  simply  had  to  put  two  and 
two  together;  besides,  your  smile  was  a  constant  re 
minder  of  some  one  whom  I  had  known  or  met  —  but 
whom  I  could  not  recall  try  as  hard  as  I  might.  The 
result  of  it  all  was  that  I  went  to  Delia  Beaseley  and 
put  a  few  questions.  Now,"  —  he  hesitated  a  mo 
ment;  he  seemed  to  brace  himself  mentally  in  order 
to  continue,  — "  do  you  know  positively  whether 
your  father  is  living  or  dead?  Have  you  ever 
known?  " 

"  No;  but  dead  to  me  even  if  living  —  that  is  why 
I  said  I  was  an  orphan." 

"  I  understand;  but  you  don't  know  either  the  one 
or  the  other  for  a  fact?  " 

"  No;   I  have  no  idea." 

"  You  never  knew  his  name?  " 

"  No;  and  none  of  the  family  knew  it  —  you  know 
what  Cale  said.  He  gave  me  the  details  for  the  first 
time." 

"  You  do  not  know,  then,  that  I  have  in  my  posses 
sion  some  papers  that  might  give  the  name?  " 

"  Yes;  I  know  that.  But  I  told  Delia  Beaseley  not 
to  mention  that  fact  to  you,  or  the  papers  in  any 
way." 

"  Why?  " 

"  Why?  " 

I  think  all  the  bitterness  of  my  past  must  have  been 
concentrated  hi  the  tone  in  which  I  uttered  that  syl- 


340  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

lable.  He  did  not  press  for  the  reason,  and  I  did  not 
offer  to  give  it. 

"  Did  it  ever  occur  to  you  that  your  father  might 
be  living?  " 

"  I  have  no  father,  living  or  dead,"  I  replied  pas 
sionately.  "  I  own  to  no  such  possession.  Does  a 
man,  simply  because  he  chooses  to  pursue  his  pleasure, 
unmindful  of  results,  acquire  the  right  to  fatherhood 
when  he  assumes  no  responsibility  for  his  act?  " 

"  Marcia,  poor  child,  has  life  been  so  hard  for 
you?  Has  nothing  compensated  for  just  living?  " 

He  knew  he  was  searching  my  very  soul.  I  knew 
it;  and  the  thought  of  my  joy  in  life,  in  just  living, 
because  of  my  love  that  was  filling  every  minute  of 
the  day  and  part  of  the  night  with  a  happiness  so  in 
tense  that,  sometimes,  I  feared  it  could  not  endure 
from  its  sheer  intensity,  brought  the  tears  to  my  eyes, 
softened  my  heart,  turned  for  the  moment  the  bitter 
to  sweet. 

I  answered,  but  with  lips  that  trembled  in  spite  of 
my  efforts  at  control:  "  Yes,  there  is  compensation, 
full,  free,  abundant.  For  all  that  life  has  taken  out 
of  me,  it  has  replaced  ten  thousand  fold.  Perhaps  I 
never  had  what  we  call  '  life  '  till  now." 

"  Oh,  child,  I  have  seen  this  happiness  in  your  face 
—  would  to  God  I  might  add  to  it!  "  His  face  worked 
strangely  with  emotion.  "  Marcia,  dear,  I  am  the 
friend,  but  also  the  surgeon.  I  have  to  use  the 
knife  —  " 

"  But  not  on  me  —  not  on  me!  "  I  cried  out  in  pro 
test.  "  Don't  tell  me  you  know  who  my  father  is 
or  was  —  don't,  if  you  are  my  friend;  don't  speak 
his  name  to  me." 

"  Why  not,  Marcia?  " 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  341 

"  I  must  not  hear  it;  I  will  not  hear  it  —  will  not, 
do  you  understand?  I  am  trying  to  forget  that  past, 
live  in  my  present  joy  —  don't,  please  don't  tell  me." 
I  covered  my  eyes  with  my  hands. 

He  drew  down  my  hands  from  before  my  face. 

"  Listen,  my  dear  girl.  There  are  rights  —  your 
rights  I  have  every  reason  to  believe,  and  legal,  as  it 
seems  to  me.  This  whole  matter  involves  a  point  of 
honor  with  me.  Let  me  explain  —  don't  shrink  so 
from  hearing  me;  I  won't  mention  any  names.  Let 
me  ask  you  a  question:  —  Did  Delia  Beaseley  tell 
you  there  was  a  marriage  certificate  among  those 
papers?  " 

"  Yes,  but,  thank  God,  she  could  not  remember 
the  name !  It  has  been  so  many  years  —  and  all  be 
fore  I  was  born." 

"  But  I  know  it.  It  stands  in  black  and  white,  and 
through  that  unlying  witness  you  have  rights  —  that 
money,  you  know- 

"  The  '  conscience  money  '  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  It  is  tainted,  tainted,  and  my  mother's  blood  is 
on  it  —  I  will  not  touch  it.  I  will  not  have  it.  I  have 
taken  wages  in  Lamoral  because  Jamie  assured  me 
the  money  was  your  own  —  not  one  penny  of  it  from 
that  fund." 

"  Yes,  it  is  my  own,  and  I  never  made  a  better  in 
vestment  with  so  few  dollars.  But,  Marcia  —  " 

He  hesitated;  his  face  looked  tense;  his  voice 
sounded  as  if  strained  to  breaking.  The  knife  was 
hurting  him  almost  as  much  as  it  hurt  me.  I  looked 
at  him. 

"  Don't  look  at  me  so;  I  can't  do  my  duty  if  you 
do." 


342  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

"  I  don't  want  you  to  do  your  duty  so  far  as  I  am 
concerned.  I  want  you  to  show  your  friendship  for 
me,  by  not  telling  me  anything  that  you  may  know." 

"  But,  Marcia,  it  is  time  — 

"But  not  now  —  oh,  not  now!  You  don't  know 
what  I  have  borne  —  I  can  bear  no  more  —  "  I  spoke 
brokenly. 

"  My  dear  girl,  what  can  you  tell  me  that  I  do  not 
know,  I  who  was  with  your  mother  in  her  last 
hour  —  " 

I  broke  down  then,  sobbing,  trying  to  explain  but 
only  half  coherently: 

"  She  was  here  —  twenty-seven  years  ago  —  with 
Andre  —  he  showed  me  the  tree  —  " 

"  Marcia,  calm  yourself.  Tell  me,  if  you  can,  just 
what  you  mean." 

I  struggled  to  regain  my  self-control,  and  when  I 
could  speak  without  sobbing,  I  explained  in  a  few 
words  my  reason  for  thinking  my  mother  was  here 
long  years  before  me  with  the  man  who  was  my 
father. 

The  Doctor  listened  intently. 

"  This  makes  the  past  clearer  to  me,  Marcia,  but 
at  the  same  time  it  complicates  the  present,  the 
future  —  " 

"Oh,  don't  let's  talk  about  past  or  future!"  I 
cried,  nervously  irritated  by  this  constant  reappear 
ance  of  new  combinations  of  my  past  in  my  present, 
and  possible  future.  "  Let  me  enjoy  what  is  given 
me  to  enjoy  now  —  it  is  so  much!  " 

"  I  must  see  my  way,  Marcia.  A  duty  remains  a 
duty,  even  if  the  doing  of  it  be  postponed.  I  am  your 
friend.  I  cannot  let  you  wreck  your  life  —  " 

"  Wreck  my  life?     What  do  you  mean?  "  I  de- 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  343 

manded  sharply.     "  How  can  I  wreck  it  when  for  the 
first  time  I  am  in  a  safe  harbor?  " 

He  could  not,  or  would  not,  answer  me  directly. 

"  Marcia,  many  a  time  when  I  have  an  operation 
to  perform,  the  issue  of  which  seems  to  me  to  be  a  clear 
one  of  death,  I  grow  faint-hearted  and  say  to  myself: 
'  I  will  let  the  trouble  take  its  natural  course  —  it  is 
death  in  the  end,  and,  at  least,  not  under  my  knife.' 
Then  I  get  a  grip  on  myself;  look  my  duty  squarely 
in  the  face  —  and  do  the  best  that  lies  in  my  trained 
hand,  in  my  keen  sight,  in  my  knowledge  of  this  frail 
body  in  which  we  dwell  for  a  time.  And  sometimes 
it  happens,  that,  instead  of  the  issue  death,  of  which 
I  felt  certain,  there  is  life  as  the  desired  outcome  —  and 
I  rejoice.  I  asked  an  old  soldier  once,  a  veteran  of  the 
Civil  War,  a  three  years  man,  —  he  is  still  living  and 
now  a  minister  of  God's  word,  —  how  he  felt  in  battle? 
Could  he  describe  his  feelings  to  me? 

"  '  Yes,'  he  said,  '  I  can.  I  don't  know  how  it  is 
with  other  men,  but  I  used  to  have  but  one  fear,  that 
of  being  a  coward.  I  prayed  not  to  be.'  That  is  the 
way  I  feel  now  towards  you  in  relation  to  this  matter. 
But  for  the  present  we  will  drop  the  subject;  we  will 
not  discuss  it  further." 

He  changed  the  subject  at  once,  and  I  was  grateful 
to  him.  He  began  to  speak  of  Jamie. 

"  He  is  getting  very  restless.  He  told  me  you  knew 
something  of  his  plans.  What  do  you  think  of  them?  " 

"  You  mean  his  returning  to  England  and  settling 
for  the  winter  in  London?  He  told  me  that  before 
we  left  Lamoral.  I  suppose  he  ought  to  go.  At  any 
rate,  he  is  much  stronger,  better,  is  n't  he?  " 

"  He  is  n't  the  same  man.  The  truth  is  he  was 
plucked  away  from  the  white  scourge  as  a  brand  from 


344  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

the  burning.  I  really  believe  he  will  not  go  back  in 
the  matter  of  health,  although  I  wish  he  might  remain 
another  year  here  to  clinch  the  matter  for  his  own 
sake,  and  mine  —  " 

"  And  mine.    I  shall  miss  him  so!  " 

The  Doctor  looked  at  me  rather  curiously,  but  did 
not  comment  on  what  I  said.  I  was  wondering  if 
he  were  at  work  reasoning  to  my  conclusion  about 
Mrs.  Macleod's  leaving  Lamoral. 

"  Well,  my  dear  girl,  it 's  a  break-up  all  round. 
That 's  the  worst  of  this  camping-out  business. 
Jamie  is  going  so  soon  — 

"  Soon  ?  Do  you  mean  he  is  going  to  leave  Lam- 
oral  soon  ?  " 

"  Yes.  He  had  letters  last  night  from  his  publishers. 
The  book  requires  his  presence  in  London  by  Septem 
ber  twenty-third.  He  will  have  to  sail  by  the  sixteenth. 
Mrs.  Macleod  is  joyful  at  the  prospect.  Jamie  told  me 
to  tell  you.  I  think  he  hated  to  himself.  He  is  very 
fond  of  you,  Marcia." 

I  smiled  at  my  thoughts. 

"  No  fonder  of  me  than  I  am  of  him.  He  has 
changed  so  much  in  these  last  nine  months." 

"  You,  too,  see  that?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  and  his  mother  sees  it.  He  has  matured 
in  every  way." 

The  Doctor  smiled.  "  You  talk  as  if  you  were  his 
grandmother.  I  'm  proud  of  him,  I  confess.  Had  my 
boy  lived  -  His  voice  broke. 

"  Dear  Doctor  Rugvie,  it  is  all  a  wilderness,  as 
Jamie  said,  is  n't  it?  And  we  're  fortunate  to  find  a 
trail,  like  this,  that  leads  to  camp  —  and  friends,"  I 
said,  pointing  to  the  newly  made  path  through  the 
forest. 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  345 

"  Yes,  my  dear,  —  and  that  reminds  me  I  have  n't 
shown  you  what  I  brought  you  here  to  see. 
Come." 

He  penetrated  farther  into  the  woods  and  off  the 
trail  to  the  left.  There  we  found  a  blasted  tree  in 
which  was  a  great  hollow. 

"  It  is  filled  with  honey,  Marcia,  wild  honey.  I 
wonder  that  no  track  of  bear  is  to  be  seen  about 
here." 

"  Who  would  ever  think  of  finding  such  a  store  of 
sweet  in  this  poor  old  lightning-blasted  tree!  "  I  ex 
claimed,  looking  more  closely  at  it.  "  What  a  feast 
Bruin  will  have  some  day." 

"  You  see  there  is  honey  even  in  the  wilderness, 
Marcia.  I  wanted  to  convince  you  that  there  is  such 
—  may  you,  also,  find  it  so."  He  turned  towards  the 
camp,  I  following  his  lead. 

"  By  the  way,"  he  said,  as  he  walked  on  rapidly, 
"  do  you  know  anything  that  could  have  given  old 
Andre  any  physical  or  nervous  shock  recently?  " 

"  No  —  I  don't  recall  anything,  at  least  anything 
that  he  might  feel  physically.  It 's  just  possible  a 
fright  I  gave  him  unintentionally  that  day  of  the 
storm  may  have  affected  him  for  a  time.  Why,  does 
he  show  any  effect  of  shock?  " 

"  Yes,  decidedly.    What  was  it?  " 

I  told  him  of  my  carelessness  with  the  paddle  while 
crossing  the  lake;  of  the  careening  of  the  canoe;  of 
Andre's  terrified  shriek  and  his  muttered  fear  of  the 
depth  of  the  lake. 

"  That  must  have  been  it.  I  felt  sure  there  was 
some  nervous  shock." 

"  Oh,  how  could  I  do  it!  Dear  old  Andre  —  and  I 
of  all  others!  " 


346  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

"  It 's  his  age,  Marcia;  it  was  liable  to  come  at  any 
time;  this  is  why  Ewart  felt  so  anxious  about  you 
that  day  and  required  the  promise.  Old  as  he  is,  he 
is  tough  as  a  pine  knot,  wiry  as  witch  grass,  with  great 
powers  of  endurance,  good  eyesight,  good  teeth;  he 
has  seemed  less  than  seventy  till  this  year.  Now  he 
is  breaking  up.  It  would  not  surprise  me  if  this  were 
his  debacle." 

"  I  can't  bear  to  think  of  it.  Why  must  all  these 
changes  come  at  once!  What  am  I  to  do  in  the  midst 
of  this  general  debacle?  " 

"  Marcia,"  he  stopped  short,  turned  to  face  me, 
"  remember  that  now  and  hereafter  when  you  need  a 
friend  you  will  find  one  in  me.  Don't  hesitate  to  come 
to  me,  to  call  on  me  whenever  there  may  be  need,  or 
when  there  is  no  need.  I  had  once,  many  years  ago, 
not  only  a  son  but  a  darling  daughter.  She  would  have 
been  about  your  age  —  a  year  younger." 

I  could  not  thank  him,  grateful  as  I  was,  for  I  was 
inwardly  rebellious  that  he  should  feel  called  upon 
to  offer  me  the  protection  of  his  friendship,  when  he 
must  see  that  his  friend  was  the  only  one  to  give  me 
the  needed  shelter  —  and  that  in  Lamoral,  because 
he  loved  me.  For  a  moment  his  words  seemed  almost 
an  insult  to  Mr.  Ewart. 

Suddenly  he  laughed  out  —  his  hearty  kindly 
laugh.  It  put  new  heart  into  me. 

"  What  is  it?  "  I  asked  quickly,  ready  to  respond 
to  a  little  cheer. 

"  Ewart  is  having  his  surprise  too,  but  domesti 
cally.  He  had  word  in  the  mail  from  Cale  last  night, 
and  according  to  his  account  everything  is  going  to 
the  dogs  at  Lamoral.  Angelique  has  elected  to  fall 
in  love  with  Widower  Pierre  and  he  with  her.  They 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  347 

are  to  postpone  the  marriage  until  the  seignior 
returns,  but  beg  he  will  consider  the  state  of  their 
affections  and  be  considerate." 

I  laughed  with  him.  There  was  humor  in  this  situ 
ation  at  Lamoral,  for  I  had  warned  Cale  before  I  left 
how  this  affair  would  terminate,  and  he  had  sniffed 
at  my  clairvoyance. 

"  The  truth  is,  Cale  is  homesick  for  the  whole  house 
hold." 

"  Poor  Cale!  He  is  having  a  hard  time.  I  ought 
to  be  at  home  to  help  him,  to  comfort  him.  Our  new 
relationship  means  that  I  have  found  another  friend." 

"  And  a  faithful  one." 

"  You  think  we  shall  break  camp  very  soon?  " 

"  Yes.    I  have  to  be  off  to-morrow  - 

"  To-morrow!  Why,  you  were  to  stay  into  the 
second  week  of  September." 

"  I  have  to  leave  sooner  than  I  planned.  The  Mon- 
tagnais  brought  up  a  telegram  with  the  mail,  and 
my  answer  goes  back  with  me  to-morrow.  I  've  kept 
the  Montagnais  for  guide,  although  I  should  not  fear 
to  risk  it  alone,  now  that  I  have  been  over  the  route 
so  many  times." 

"  Then,  if  Mrs.  Macleod  and  Jamie  are  to  sail  soon, 
I  must  go,  too,  I  suppose." 

"  Yes,  Cale  needs  you;  the  whole  household  needs 
you.  I  proposed  to  Ewart  that  we  all  go  together, 
then  there  will  be  no  heart-breaking  goodbys,  except 
to  Andre." 

I  bit  my  lip  to  keep  back  any  inquiry  about  Mr. 
Ewart's  going  with  us,  and  was  thankful  I  held  my 
peace  for  the  Doctor  continued,  tramping  steadily  on 
ahead  of  me: 

"  But  now  Ewart  will  remain  to  the  end  —  " 


34-3  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

"  But  has  it  come  to  this?  "  I  cried.  I  was  depressed 
at  the  turn  of  events. 

The  Doctor  stopped,  turned  and  faced  me,  saying 
gravely: 

"  It  has,  Marcia;  I  read  the  signs.  We  shall  know 
when  we  get  back.  I  was  with  him  all  last  night; 
there  is  no  help.  But  Ewart  and  I  did  not  want  you 
and  Jamie  and  Mrs.  Macleod  to  know  it  —  not  till 
morning.  You  thought  he  was  out  fishing  when  we 
left;  so  did  Jamie.  Ewart  asked  me  to  tell  you  on 
our  way  back." 

"  Andre  —  " 

I  could  not  speak  another  word.  The  old  Canadian 
had  so  endeared  himself  to  me  during  the  many 
weeks  in  the  wilds.  Added  to  this  was  the  thought 
of  his  probable  connection  with  my  mother's  short 
lived  joy.  It  was  all  too  sudden. 

"  It  is  the  debacle,  no  mistake  about  that,"  I  said 
stolidly,  and  set  my  teeth  together  that  they  should 
not  chatter  and  betray  my  weakness  of  spirit. 

"  Can't  I  stay  and  help  to  nurse  him?  " 

"  No,  Marcia,  that  won't  do.  Andre  lies  in  a  leth 
argy;  his  condition  may  not  change  for  days,  for 
weeks,  although  I  doubt  this.  His  son  and  Ewart 
will  do  all  that  is  necessary.  Ewart  will  never  leave 
the  two  here  alone.  You  would  be  an  extra  care  for 
them.  It  is  now  exceptionally  cold  for  the  season  in 
this  latitude ;  the  fall  rains  may  set  in  any  time.  Don't 
propose  such  a  thing  to  Ewart,  I  beg  of  you.  But 
Ewart  remains  —  that  is  the  kind  of  friend  Ewart  is." 

The  request  was  too  earnest  for  me  not  to  accede 
to  it  with  as  good  a  grace  as  possible. 

On  our  return  we  found  that  it  was  as  the  Doctor 
had  predicted :  the  old  guide  was  unconscious. 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  349 

Mr.  Ewart  decided  the  matter  of  breaking  camp. 
We  were  to  leave  the  next  morning  with  the  Montag- 
nais  and  Andre  the  Second  for  guides.  Andre's  son 
was  to  accompany  us  only  to  the  fourth  portage.  The 
Doctor,  with  the  other  Montagnais,  was  sufficient 
for  the  rest  of  the  way.  The  camp  belongings  were 
to  follow  later  with  Mr.  Ewart,  whenever  that  should 
be. 

I  remember  that  day  as  one  of  dreary  confusion  — 
packing,  sorting,  shivering  a  little  in  the  chill  air. 
The  sun  shone  pale ;  it  failed  to  warm  the  earth  or  our 
bodies.  All  the  forest  stirred  at  times  uneasily. 
Andre's  son  declared  it  foretold  long  cold  rains  fol 
lowed  by  sharp  frost.  And  amid  all  the  confusion  of 
the  day  we  could  hear  the  undertone  of  our  thought: 
"  Old  Andre  is  dying  ".  Mr.  Ewart  would  not  permit 
us  to  see  him. 

"  It  is  better  to  carry  with  you  only  the  memory  of 
him  as  he  has  looked  to  us  during  all  these  weeks  — 
young  in  his  heart,  joyful  in  our  companionship." 

I  saw  the  relief  in  Mr.  Ewart's  face  when  we  were 
ready.  He  spoke  cheerily  to  me  who  failed  to  respond 
with  anything  resembling  cheerfulness. 

"  It 's  a  bad  business  in  camp  during  the  fall  rains, 
and  they  are  setting  in  early  this  year.  I  shall  know 
you  are  safely  housed  —  and  there  is  so  much  to  look 
forward  to.  Home  will  be  a  pleasant  place  for  us, 
won't  it?  " 

"  I  thought  this,  also,  was  home  to  you  — 

"  Only  so  long  as  you  are  here;  my  home  henceforth 
is  where  you  are." 

And,  hearing  those  words,  despite  the  chill  air, 
despite  the  lack  of  warm  sunshine,  despite  the  fact 
that  old  Andre  lay  dying  in  his  tent  just  beyond  the 


350  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

camp,  despite  the  fact  that  Jamie  and  Mrs.  Macleod 
were  to  leave  me  alone  in  Lamoral,  that  the  Doctor 
was  going  away  for  an  indefinite  time,  my  happiness 
was  at  the  flood. 

For  a  moment  only,  we  stood  there  on  the  shore 
of  the  little  cove,  together  and  alone  —  and  glad  to 
be!  We  stood  there,  man  and  woman  facing  each 
other,  as  primeval  man  and  woman  may  have  stood 
thousands  of  years  ago  on  this  oldest  piece  of  the  known 
earth,  there  in  the  heart  of  the  Canadian  wilderness. 
Something  primeval  entered  into  the  expression  of 
our  love  for  each  other;  our  souls  were  naked,  the 
one  to  the  other;  our  eyes  promised  all,  the  one  to  the 
other;  our  lips  were  ready  for  their  seal  of  sacrament 
when  the  time  should  come  that  we  might  give  it  each 
to  the  other  without  witness. 

And  no  word  was  spoken,  for  no  word  was  needed. 

The  Doctor  joined  us  rather  inopportunely  and, 
accounting  for  the  situation,  made  no  end  of  a  pother 
with  his  traps  and  his  canoe. 

Once  more  Jamie  and  I  asked  if  we  might  not  take 
one  look  at  old  Andre,  but  the  Doctor  put  his  foot 
down. 

"  Better  not.  Remember  him  as  you  last  saw  him; 
it  will  be  a  memory  to  dwell  with  —  this  would  not 
be." 

Jamie  put  on  a  brave  face,  but  I  knew  he  was  ready 
for  a  good  cry. 

"  I  am  not  reconciled  to  say  goodby  to  you  here, 
Gordon,"  he  said. 

The  two  clasped  hands. 

"  Oh,  I  shall  be  running  over  to  see  you  and  Mrs. 
Macleod  before  long.  Be  sure,  Mrs.  Macleod,  to  have 
my  room  ready  for  me  next  summer  in  Crieff  —  and 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  351 

don't  forget  the  green  canopy  over  my  bed.  I  have  n't 
forgotten  it." 

She  smiled.  "  I  shall  never  forget  your  kindness, 
never;  but  I  can't  help  the  longing  for  home." 

"  There,  there,  no  more  you  can't,"  said  the  Doctor 
brusquely.  "  No  more  leave-takings;  they  don't  set 
well  on  my  breakfast.  We  shall  all  be  together  again 
soon,  please  God.  The  ocean  is  but  a  pond  and  the 
crossing  a  five  days'  picnic  now-a-days.  You  may  fol 
low  us  in  a  few  days,  Ewart.  Meanwhile,  I  '11  see 
that  your  household  is  safely  landed  at  Lamoral  —  if 
only  the  rain  will  hold  off,  we  shall  have  cause  for 
thankfulness,"  he  added  fervently.  We  all  knew  the 
Doctor  was  talking  against  time  and  parting. 
"  Raincoats  all  in  readiness?  "  And  then,  not  waiting 
for  an  answer: 

"  I  shall  run  up  to  Lamoral  after  I  get  back  from 
San  Francisco,  Gordon;  I  'm  not  sure  I  shan't  return 
by  the  Canadian  Pacific." 

"  Good  luck,  John,  and  goodby  till  then,"  said  Air. 
Ewart.  "  Bon  voyage,  Mrs.  Macleod.  Miss  Farrell, 
I  give  you  carte  blanche  for  all  wedding  preparations. 
Tell  Pierre  to  order  from  his  tailor,  and  charge  to  me. 
I  shall  give  them  away.  —  Macleod,  you  full-fledged 
genius,"  —  he  caught  Jamie's  hands  in  his,  —  "  let 
me  hear  from  you  —  a  wireless  will  just  suit  my  im 
patience.  Oh,  Miss  Farrell,  may  I  trouble  you  to  see 
Mere  Guillardeau  and  tell  her  of  Andre?  I  will  tele 
graph  you  before  I  return.  Goodby  —  goodby." 

There  was  a  hand-clasp  all  around  again.  The  Mon- 
tagnais  and  Andre's  son  took  their  places;  pushed  off. 
Our  return  voyage  was  begun. 

With  the  dip  of  the  paddles  I  heard,  as  an  under 
tone,  old  Andre's  little  song  he  used  to  sing  to  us  in 


352  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

camp,  the  little  French  song  that  Jamie  incorporated 
in  his  "  Andre's  Odyssey  ": 

"  I  am  going  over  there,  over  there, 
To  search  for  the  City  of  God. 
If  I  find  over  there,  over  there, 
What  I  seek  —  oh  afar,  oh  afar  !  — 
I  will  sing,  when  I'm  home  from  afar, 
Of  the  wonders  and  glory  of  God." 


XXDK 

NEVER,  never  so  long  as  memory  lasts,  can  I 
forget  the  separate  stages  of  that  return  jour 
ney.  On  the  first  day  we  had  dull  overcast 
skies  that  threatened  rain;  the  chill  wind  roughened 
the  lakes  and  river,  and  made  dismal  crossings  of  the 
portages  at  one  of  which  we  bade  goodby  to  Andre's 
son.  We  arrived  the  next  afternoon  at  Roberval  in  a 
veritable  deluge,  the  rain  having  set  in  while  we  were 
crossing  Lake  St.  John.  We  left  by  train  that 
evening  for  Chicoutimi.  I  remember  our  late  arrival 
there,  the  rain  still  falling  in  torrents,  and,  at  last,  our 
fleeing  the  next  morning  for  shelter  to  the  great  Sague- 
nay  steamer. 

On  that  third  day  we  made  the  voyage  down  the 
Saguenay.  It  seemed  to  me  as  if  I  were  embarking 
on  some  Stygian  flood,  for  we  looked  into  a  rain 
swept  impenetrable  perspective.  The  dark  waters 
were  beaten  into  quiescence,  except  for  the  current, 
by  the  weight  of  falling  raindrops.  That  was  all  we 
saw  at  first.  Despite  the  Doctor's  assumed  cheer 
fulness  and  his  brave  attempts  to  cheer  us,  we  felt 
depressed.  At  last  came  the  cessation  of  rain;  the 
heavy  clouds  rolled  upwards ;  the  perspective  cleared 
and  showed  the  mighty  river  narrowed  to  a  gorge 
with  the  dark  outposts  of  Capes  East  and  West  loom 
ing  vast,  desolate,  repellent  before  us. 


354  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

And  always  there  continued  that  darkness  around, 
above,  beneath  us,  till,  farther  down,  we  swept  into 
the  deeper  shadow  of  Capes  Trinity  and  Eternity. 
In  passing  them,  the  pall  of  some  impending  calam 
ity  fell  upon  my  spirit.  I  could  not  emerge  from  it, 
try  as  I  might. 

Was  anything  about  to  happen  to  the  man  I  loved, 
to  him  who  was  waiting  there  in  the  wilderness  to 
entertain  Death  as  his  next  guest?  Should  we  four 
friends,  who  were  making  this  journey,  ever  be  to 
gether  in  the  future? 

The  Doctor  kept  a  watchful  eye  on  me.  When  the 
steamer  drew  to  the  landing  at  Tadoussac,  I  saw  him 
and  Jamie  remove  their  hats  and  stand  so,  bareheaded, 
till  the  boat  moved  away.  Mrs.  Macleod  and  I, 
watching  them,  said  to  each  other  that  they  were 
thinking  of  Andre  and  his  voyage  of  seventeen  years 
ago,  when  he  set  out  from  Tadoussac  to  see  the  "  New 
Jerusalem  "  by  that  far  western  lake. 

We  were  glad  to  take  the  Montreal  express  at 
Quebec  which  we  saw  under  lowering  skies  and  in  a 
bitter  northeast  wind.  Jamie  had  telegraphed  to 
Cale  from  Roberval;  he  and  little  Pete  were  at  the 
junction  to  meet  us.  His  joy  at  our  return  was  un 
mistakable,  but  his  welcome  was  unique. 

"  Wai,  Mis'  Macleod,  I  guess  't  is  'bout  time  fer  you 
an'  Marcia  ter  be  gettin'  back  ter  the  manor.  An- 
gelique  an'  Pete  have  got  tied  up  already  — -  gone  off 
honey-moonin'  to  Sorel.  I  could  n't  hinder  it  no 
longer.  Marie  's  took  a  notion  to  visit  her  '  feller', 
as  they  say  here,  in  Three  Rivers,  an'  me  an'  Pete  is 
holdin'  the  fort." 

How  we  laughed;  we  could  not  help  it  at  Gale's 
plight.  That  laugh  did  us  a  world  of  good.  Cale, 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  355 

after  shaking  hands  with  each  of  us,  stowed  us  away 
in  the  big  coach. 

"  I  '11  come  over  again  fer  the  traps,  Doctor." 

"  All  right,  Cale.  I  can  be  of  some  use,  even  if  I 
don't  stay  but  one  night  at  Lamoral.  By  the  way, 
just  leave  these  things  of  mine  in  the  baggage-room; 
it  will  save  taking  them  over.  I  have  my  hand- 
bag." 

"  We  ain't  got  so  much  grub  as  we  might  have,  but 
I  guess  we  can  make  out  to  get  along,  Marcia,"  said 
Cale,  anxiously. 

"  Oh,  I  '11  manage,  Cale;  don't  worry.  We  '11  stop 
in  the  village  for  provisions,  and  it  won't  take  me  long 
to  straighten  things  out." 

"  Of  course  you  did  n't  think  we  were  coming  down 
on  you  like  the  Assyrians  of  old,"  said  Jamie,  taking 
his  seat  beside  Cale. 

"  Why,  no.  I  cal'lated  you  'd  be  here  likely  enough 
in  ten  days.  I  guess  Angelique  and  Pete  would  n't 
have  got  spliced  quite  so  soon  if  they  'd  thought  you  'd 
come  this  week.  They  cal'lated  ter  be  home  by  the 
time  you  got  here." 

We  were  glad  to  find  something  at  which  we  could 
laugh  without  pretence.  Cale's  description  of  the 
wedding  in  the  church,  at  which  he  was  best  man;  of 
his  inability  to  understand  a  word  of  the  service;  of 
Pete's  embracing  him  instead  of  Angelique  when  it 
was  all  over,  and  of  little  Pete  dissolving  in  tears  on 
his  return  to  empty  Lamoral  and  wetting  Cale's 
starched  shirt  front  before  he  could  be  comforted,  was 
something  to  be  remembered. 

"  I  must  write  this  up  for  Ewart,"  said  Jamie,  that 
evening  when  we  sat  once  again  around  a  normal 
hearth. 


356  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

"  He  will  enjoy  it;  no  one  better,"  said  the  Doctor 
who  was  busy  looking  up  New  York  sailings.  "  Look 
here,  Boy,  you  say  you  want  a  week,  at  least,  in  New 
York?" 

"  Yes.  I  have  never  seen  the  place,  and  I  don't 
want  to  go  home  without  knowing  something  about 
it." 

"  Well,  in  that  case,  I  will  make  a  proposition  to 
you.  Suppose  you  sail  from  New  York  instead  of 
Montreal?  You  can  have  a  week  there,  sail  on  the 
sixteenth  and  be  in  London  on  time,  provided  you 
leave  here  to-morrow  night." 

"  To-morrow  night?  "  I  echoed  dismally. 

"  Yes,  it  will  have  to  be  to-morrow  night  —  or 
leave  out  New  York.  Better  decide  to  go,  Mrs.  Mac- 
leod,  for  then  I  can  entertain  you  for  two  days  before 
I  leave  for  San  Francisco  and,  in  any  case,  put  my 
house  at  your  disposal." 

Both  Mrs.  Macleod  and  Jamie  hesitated;  I  felt 
they  were  considering  me,  not  wishing  to  leave  me 
alone  in  Lamoral. 

"  Don't  think  of  me,"  I  said.  "  The  sooner  this 
parting  from  you  and  Jamie  is  over  the  better  it  will 
be  for  me."  I  fear  I  spoke  too  decidedly. 

"  Marcia,  my  dear,  I  don't  see  how  I  can  leave  you 
here  alone." 

"  I  'm  used  to  being  alone."  I  answered  shortly  to 
hide  my  emotion. 

"  Yes,  better  cut  it  short,"  Jamie  said  with  a  twitch 
of  his  upper  lip.  "  We  '11  accept  your  invitation,  Doc 
tor  Rugvie  —  you  're  always  doing  something  for  us ; 
we  've  come  to  expect  it;  I  hope  we  shan't  end  by 
taking  it  for  granted." 

"  Nothing  would  please  me  better  than  that,  Boy. 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  357 

You  are  a  bit  over-tired,  to-night;  better  go  to  bed 
now,  and  do  all  there  is  to  be  done  in  the  morning.  I 
must  go  then." 

"  What,  can't  you  wait  to  go  with  us?  "  Jamie  de 
manded. 

"  No;  I  must  be  in  New  York  to-morrow  evening. 
I  will  meet  you  at  the  station  the  next  day." 

"  I  believe  I  am  a  bit  fagged  —  and  I  know  mother 
is.  That  portage  business  is  a  strain  on  the  best  legs. 
But  you  were  game,  Marcia,  no  mistake." 

"  Help  me  to  be  '  game  '  now  —  and  go  to  bed. 
I  '11  follow  just  as  soon  as  I  set  the  bread  to  rise." 

"  It 's  too  bad  that  I  must  leave  you  to  this,  Mar 
cia,"  said  Mrs.  Macleod  regretfully,  as  she  kissed  me 
good  night  —  for  the  second  time  at  Lamoral. 

"  Oh,  I  can  do  all  there  is  to  be  done." 

I  returned  her  kiss.  I  was  beginning  to  love  this 
gentle,  reticent  Scotchwoman. 

"  I  don't  want  any  good  night  from  you,  Marcia," 
said  Jamie  gruffly.  "  Oh,  I  hate  the  whole  business!  " 
He  flung  out  of  the  room,  and  I  rose  to  follow  him  and 
Mrs.  Macleod. 

"  Stay  with  me  a  little  while,  Marcia;  you  are  not 
so  tired  as  they  are.  Who  knows  whether  I  shall  see 
you  for  a  whole  month  or  more?  "  The  Doctor  spoke 
earnestly. 

"  You  expect  to  be  gone  so  long?  " 

"  Perhaps  longer  —  it  depends  on  what  I  find  await 
ing  me.  You  permit  another?  "  He  reached  for  a 
cigar. 

"  Let  me  light  it  for  you." 

I  performed  the  little  service  for  him,  which  he 
loved  to  accept  from  me,  and  then  sat  down  in  Jamie's 
corner  of  the  sofa. 


358  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

The  Doctor  puffed  vigorously  for  a  while.  Then  he 
spoke,  suddenly  looking  at  me: 

"  After  all,  it  is  Ewart  that  makes  Lamoral,  is  n't 
it,  Marcia?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  replied  promptly.  I  was  so  glad  to  speak 
his  name  here  in  his  own  home.  I  was  hoping  his 
friend  would  feel  inclined  to  talk  of  him. 

"  I  have  never  had  an  opportunity  to  realize  this 
before;  it  is  the  first  time  I  have  been  here  without 
him." 

"  I  remember  Jamie  said,  the  night  before  you 
came  last  November,  that  I  should  n't  know  the 
house  after  Mr.  Ewart  took  possession." 

The  Doctor  turned  to  me,  smiling  almost  wistfully, 
or  so  it  seemed  to  me. 

"  His  presence  makes  the  difference  between  the 
house  and  the  home.  Is  n't  that  what  Jamie  meant?  " 

"  Yes,  I  am  sure  it  is.  Mr.  Ewart  himself  calls  the 
old  manor  '  home  '  now."  I  smiled  at  my  thoughts. 
Had  he  not  said,  "  My  home  is  henceforth  where  you 
are  "? 

"  And  I,  for  my  part,  am  thankful  to  hear  him  use 
that  word.  Marcia,  Ewart  has  been,  in  a  way,  a  home 
less  man." 

"  I  thought  so  from  the  little  he  has  said." 

"  He  was  orphaned  early  in  life.  Has  he  ever  spoken 
to  you  of  his  wife?  "  The  question  was  put  casually, 
but  I  knew  intentionally. 

"  Only  once." 

"  And  once  only  to  me,  his  friend  —  several  years 
ago.  He  has  suffered.  I  have  known  no  detail,  but 
whatever  it  was,  it  went  deep." 

I  was  willing  to  follow  his  lead  a  little  further  and, 
although  I  realized  the  ice  was  thin,  I  ventured. 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  359 

"  I  wonder  if  you  have  ever  heard  any  gossip  — 

"  Gossip?  What  gossip?  "  The  Doctor's  words 
were  abrupt,  his  tone  resentful. 

"  Something  Jamie  heard  here  in  the  village,  and 
because  he  did  not  believe  it,  he  told  me,  when  I  first 
came,  that  if  I  ever  heard  it  I  should  not  believe  it 
either  - 

"  About  Ewart?  "    He  ceased  to  puff  at  his  cigar. 

"  Yes;  about  his  having  been  married  and  divorced, 
and  that  he  has  a  child  living,  a  boy  whom  he  is  educa 
ting  in  England." 

"  That 's  all  fool-talk  about  the  boy."  The  Doc 
tor  spoke  testily.  "  I  don't  mind  telling  you  that  he 
was  married,  as  of  course  you  know,  and  lost  his  wife. 
I  don't  mind  telling  you  that  he  was  divorced  from 
her;  I  suppose  that  is  a  matter  of  public  record 
somewhere.  I  don't  know  who  she  was  —  or  what  she 
was;  he  is  loyal  to  that  memory.  But  there  is  no  boy 
in  the  case." 

He  tossed  his  cigar  into  the  fire  and  began  tapping 
the  floor  rapidly  with  the  tip  of  his  boot. 

"  I  inferred,  of  course,  from  a  remark  he  made  to 
me  then,  that  there  was  a  child  mixed  up  in  the  af 
fair  —  " 

"  All  this  must  be  the  foundation  for  the  rumors, 
then?  "  I  said. 

"  Yes;  but  if  Ewart  has  a  child,  and  I  am  con 
vinced  he  has  —  " 

"  You  are?  "  I  asked  in  amazement,  thereby  prov 
ing  to  the  Doctor  that  I  had  never  given  credence  to 
this  part  of  the  report. 

He  nodded  emphatically,  looking  away  from  me  into 
the  fire.  "  If  he  has  a  child,  I  know  it  to  be  a  girl  — 
no  boy." 


360  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

"  I  had  n't  thought  of  that." 

"  I  see  you  have  n't,"  he  said  dryly;  then,  clearing 
his  throat,  he  turned  squarely  to  me,  speaking  delib 
erately,  as  if  hoping  every  word  would  carry  convic 
tion. 

"  Marcia,  if  Ewart  has  a  child,  as  I  am  convinced 
he  has,  it  is  a  daughter,  —  "  with  a  quick  turn  of  his 
head  he  faced  me,  speaking  distinctly  but  rapidly,  — 
"  and  that  daughter  is  you." 

It  was  said,  the  unheard-of.  He  had  used  his  knife 
when  I  was  off  my  guard.  I  was  powerless  to  shrink 
from  it,  to  protest  against  its  use.  All  I  could  do  was 
to  bear. 

I  heard  one  of  the  dogs  whine  somewhere  about  the 
house.  I  know  I  counted  the  vagrant  sparks  flying 
up  the  chimney.  I  heard  the  kitchen  clock  striking. 
I  counted  —  ten.  I  remembered  that  I  had  forgotten 
to  wind  it,  and  must  do  so  when  I  made  the  bread.  I 
moistened  my  lips;  they  were  suddenly  parched. 
Then  I  spoke. 

"  Why  have  you  told  me  this?  "  I  failed,  curiously, 
to  hear  my  own  voice,  and  repeated  the  question. 

"  Marcia,  it  had  to  be  said  —  it  was  my  duty." 

"  Why?  " 

"  Why?  "  He  turned  to  me  with  something  like 
anger  flashing  in  his  eyes.  "  Because  I  don't  choose 
to  have  you  make  a  wreck  of  your  life,  as  I  told  you 
only  the  other  day  - 

"But  if  I  choose  -  I  did  not  know  what  I  was 
saying.  I  was  merely  articulating,  but  could  not  tell 
him  so. 

"  If  you  choose!  Good  God  —  don't  you  see  your 
situation?  Marcia,  dear  girl,  come  to  yourself  —  you 
are  not  yourself." 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  361 

Without  another  word  he  rose  quickly,  and  went 
out.  I  heard  him  go  into  the  kitchen.  He  came  back 
with  a  third  of  a  glass  of  water. 

"  Take  this,  Marcia." 

I  obeyed.  The  bitter  taste  is  even  now,  at  times, 
on  my  tongue.  Soon  I  was  able  to  hear  my  own  voice. 

"  Thank  you."    I  felt  his  finger  on  my  wrist. 

"  You  are  better  now?  " 

"  Yes."  I  passed  my  hand  across  my  eyes  to  clear 
my  sight.  I  heard  a  heavy  long-drawn  sigh  from  the 
man  standing  in  front  of  me. 

"  Does  he  know?  "  was  my  first  rational  question. 

"  Ewart  know?  Marcia,  Marcia  —  think  what  you 
are  saying!  Ewart  is  a  gentleman  —  the  soul  of 
honor  —  " 

"  No,  of  course,  he  does  n't.     I  did  n't  think.  - 
Why  have  n't  you  told  him  instead  of  me?  " 

"  Why?  I  tell  you  because  you  are  a  woman; 
because  it  is  your  right  to  withdraw  from  a  situation 
that  is  untenable;  you  must  be  the  first  to  know." 

"  I  see;   I  am  beginning  to  understand." 

"  Marcia,  this  is  a  confession.  I  blame  myself  for 
much  of  this.  I  am  guilty  of  procrastinating  in  a 
matter  of  duty.  Listen,  my  dear  girl ;  you  remember 
that  night  in  February  when  you  met  me  at  the 
junction?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  remember  —  I  wish  I  could  forget." 
I  felt  suddenly  so  tired. 

"  I  heard  all  this  in  E wart's  voice  when  he  bade  me 
look  out  for  you.  I  saw  all  this  in  your  face  when  you 
greeted  him  on  his  return.  I  did  not  know  then  of 
your  connection  with  Cale,  with  that  sad  affair  of 
twenty-seven  years  ago;  but,  from  the  moment  I 
knew  your  birthday,  from  that  night  when  Gale's 


362  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

story  fitted  its  key  to  mine,  from  the  moment  I  learned 
the  truth  from  Delia  Beaseley  about  you,  from  the 
moment  I  examined  those  papers  in  my  possession, 
I  should  have  spoken;  should  have  written  you  at 
least;  should  have  warned  —  but  I  waited  to  make 
more  sure." 

"  Are  you  sure?  " 

I  put  that  question  as  a  drowning  man  catches  at 
a  floating  reed. 

"  No,  I  dare  not  say  I  am  sure  until  Ewart  himself 
confirms  black  and  white  —  sees  that  certificate ; 
but  I  must  warn  you  just  the  same.  It  is  my  duty." 

I  drew  a  longer  breath.  He  was  not  wholly  sure 
then.  There  was  a  reprieve,  meanwhile  — 

What  "  meanwhile  "?  I  could  not  think;  but  I  was 
aware  that  the  Doctor  was  speaking  again,  thinking 
for  me.  I  listened  apathetically. 

"  Marcia,  I  have  to  leave  to-morrow  morning.  I 
must  leave  you  with  Cale.  Thank  God,  you  have 
him  near  you!  It  has  been  impressed  upon  me  that 
you  must  be  told  all  this  before  Ewart  gets  back. 
You  are  a  woman  —  and  your  womanhood  will  dic 
tate,  will  show  you  the  way  out.  Come  to  me,  come 
to  my  home  —  I  shall  not  be  there;  come  now,  with 
Mrs.  Macleod  and  Jamie.  I  will  wire  Ewart  that  you 
are  with  us  for  a  little  while.  Get  time  to  breathe, 
to  think  things  out,  to  conquer,  before  he  comes  - 

"  No."    I  spoke  with  decision.    I  made  a  physical 
effort  to  speak  so.      "  I  shall  remain  where  I  am  - 
for  a  while.     I  have  Cale.    When  I  go,  he  goes  with 
me;    but,  oh,  don't,  don't  say  any  more  —  I  cannot 
bear  it!" 

My  words  were  half  prayer,  half  groan.  I  felt  sud 
denly  weak,  sick  throughout  my  whole  body. 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  363 

"  I  wish  I  might  bear  this  for  you,  dear  girl.  I  had 
to  say  it.  I  could  not  let  you  go  on  — 

"  I  know,  I  know,  you  did  your  duty  —  but  don't 
say  anything  more." 

I  held  out  my  hand.    "  I  shall  be  up  in  the  morning 
—  and  get  your  breakfast;    it 's  so  early  for  you  to 
start.    The  others  won't  be  up." 

"  I  wish  you  would,"  he  said  eagerly.  "  I  must 
satisfy  myself  that  you  are  up  and  about  before  I  go, 
otherwise  —  He  hesitated. 

"  Don't  worry.     I  shall  be  about  just  the  same  — 
only  now  — 

"  I  know;  you  want  to  be  alone  —  you  can  bear 
no  more.  Good  night."  He  left  the  room  abruptly. 


XXX 

MECHANICALLY  I  covered  the  dying  fire 
with  ashes;  lighted  my  candle;  snuffed  out 
those  in  the  sconces,  and  went  out  into  the 
kitchen.  I  wound  the  clock  and  set  my  bread  to  rise. 
I  heard  one  of  the  dogs  whining  in  the  dining-room; 
he  had  been  unintentionally  shut  in.  I  let  him  out. 
He  showed  his  gratitude  in  his  dog's  way  and  fol 
lowed  me,  unbidden,  upstairs  to  my  room. 

I  entered,  and  shut  the  door  softly  not  to  rouse 
Jamie  and  Mrs.  Macleod.  I  heard  the  dog  settle 
on  the  threshold.  Somehow,  the  sound  helped  me  to 
bear.  It  was  something  belonging  to  him  that  was 
near  me  in  my  trouble. 

I  sat  down  on  the  side  of  my  bed  —  sat  there,  I 
think,  all  night.  A  round  of  thought  kept  turning 
like  a  mill-wheel  in  my  head:  —  "The  man  I  love 
is  my  father  —  Mr.  Ewart,  my  father,  is  the  man  I 
love." 

It  was  maddening. 

The  mill-wheel  turned  and  turned  with  terrible 
rapidity.  I  held  my  head  in  both  hands.  Towards 
morning,  when  the  light  began  to  break,  I  looked 
about  me.  At  sight  of  the  familiar  interior,  the 
wheel  in  my  head  turned  more  slowly  —  stepped  for 
a  moment.  In  the  silence  I  could  think;  think  another 
thought:  "  The  Doctor  is  not  sure  —  " 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  365 

I  rose,  steadying  myself  by  holding  on  to  the  foot 
board. 

"  Not  sure  —  not  sure."  The  mill-wheel  was  at 
work  again.  "  Not  sure  —  not  sure." 

"  Of  course  not."  I  spoke  aloud.  The  sound  of 
my  own  voice  gave  me  poise.  The  wheel  turned 
slowly.  In  another  moment  my  whole  being  was  in 
revolt.  I  spoke  again: 

"  It  is  not  true.    Not  until  he  tells  me,  will  I  believe. 
The  Doctor  is  mistaken;    black  and  white  can  lie — 
even  after  twenty-seven  years.     The  man  I  love  — 
and  I  cannot  help  loving  him  —  is  not  the  man  who  is 
responsible  for  me  in  this  world." 

All  my  woman's  nature  cried  out  against  this  blas 
phemy  of  circumstances  against  my  love  —  my  love 
for  Gordon  Ewart,  that  was  so  true,  so  pure;  pure  in  its 
depths  of  passion,  true  in  its  patience  sanctified 
through  endurance. 

"  I  will  go  to  Cale.  He  will  know.  He  will  tell  me. 
He  will  see  it  cannot  be  true.  This  love  Mr.  Ewart 
feels  for  me  is  not,  never  has  been,  a  father's  love. 
No  two  human  beings  could  be  so  drawn  the  one  to 
the  other,  as  we  have  been,  with  that  tie  between 
them.  It  is  preposterous  on  the  face  of  it.  It  is  a 
monstrosity,  born  of  conflicting  circumstances." 

The  energy  of  life  was  returning.  I  undressed.  I 
bathed  face  and  head  and  arms.  I  dressed  again  in 
fresh  garments.  I  opened  the  door;  the  dog  rose,  wag 
ging  his  tail.  I  slipped  noiselessly  down  the  back 
stairs  and  found  that  Cale  had  been  before  me.  The 
fire  was  made;  the  water  in  the  kettle  boiling. 

I  made  the  coffee;  worked  over  my  bread;  fried 
the  bacon ;  broke  the  eggs  for  the  omelette ;  whisked 
up  some  "  gems  "  and  put  them  into  the  oven.  The 


366  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

mill-wheel  no  longer  turned.  When  Cale  came  in,  I 
sent  him  upstairs  with  a  pitcher  of  hot  water  for  the 
Doctor. 

"  Seems  like  home  ter  see  you  round  again,  Marcia," 
he  said,  as  he  took  the  pitcher. 

"  It  seems  good  to  be  at  home  again."  I  tried  to 
speak  cheerfully. 

Doctor  Rugvie  gave  me  one  long  searching  look, 
when  he  took  his  place  at  the  breakfast  table.  Then 
he  paid  his  attention  to  the  omelette  which  he 
ate  with  evident  relish.  We  talked  of  this  and  that. 
I  went  out  into  the  hall  with  him. 

"  Goodby,  Marcia."  He  put  out  his  hand.  "  Wire 
me  just  a  word  from  time  to  time  —  I  have  left  the 
California  address  on  the  library  table." 

"  Goodby  —  I  shall  not  forget." 

That  was  all.  But  I  drew  a  long  breath  of  relief 
when  I  could  no  longer  see  the  carriage.  I  feel  sure 
he,  too,  drew  another. 

All  the  forenoon  I  was  busy  packing,  helping  Mrs. 
Macleod  and  Jamie.  I  gave  myself  not  a  moment's 
rest;  I  dared  not.  Only  once,  just  after  dinner,  and 
three  hours  before  they  were  to  leave  for  Montreal,  I 
went  up  to  my  room  to  be  alone  for  a  minute  or  two ; 
to  gain  strength  to  go  through  the  rest  of  the  time, 
before  parting  with  my  friends. 

I  had  been  there  not  five  minutes  when  Mrs.  Mac 
leod  rapped. 

"  Come  in,"  I  said  a  little  wearily. 

She  entered  and  came  directly  to  where  I  sat  by 
the  window.  She  put  her  arms  around  me,  —  moth 
erly-wise  as  I  fancied,  —  and  spoke  to  me: 

"  Marcia,  my  dear,  I  cannot  leave  you  without  tell 
ing  you  I  have  seen  it  all.  I  speak  as  an  older  woman 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  367 

to  a  younger.  Dear  child,  I  wish  you  joy;  you  de 
serve  all  that  is  in  store  for  you  —  and  there  is  so 
much  for  you,  so  much  here  in  the  old  manor.  I  am 
so  happy  for  you  and  with  you,  my  dear." 

I  lifted  my  face  to  hers  and  she  kissed  me. 

"  I  don't  like  to  leave  you  here;  it  goes  against  me 
—  there  is  no  woman  near  you;  and  you  cannot  remain 
in  the  circumstances,  you  know,  my  dear,  after  Mr. 
Ewart  returns.  I  only  wish  you  would  come  with  us. 
But  that  would  never  do;  Mr.  Ewart  would  be  my 
enemy  for  life,  and  I  could  not  blame  him." 

"  Cale  will  be  here,"  I  said.  "  I  have  been  wanting 
to  tell  you  something." 

I  told  her  of  my  relation  to  him ;  what  it  meant  to 
me.  I  told,  and  to  her  amazement,  of  my  connection 
with  her  of  whom  both  the  Doctor  and  Cale  had 
spoken  —  and  I  told  it  all  with  a  flood  of  tears,  my 
head  on  her  shoulder,  her  arms  around  me. 

And  she  thought  I  was  crying  for  that  Past! 

Those  tears  saved  my  brain. 

When  she  left  me,  I  had  given  her  my  promise  that 
if  ever  I  should  need  a  home,  I  would  make  hers  mine. 

"  But  you  will  hardly  need  it,  my  dear.  Mr.  Ewart 
will  make  this  the  one  spot  on  earth  for  you  —  and  it 
is  right  that  your  future  should  compensate  for  your 
past." 

Jamie  whistled  all  day;  it  got  at  last  on  my  nerves. 
When  I  begged  him  to  stop,  he  looked  at  me  reproach 
fully  and  said  never  a  word,  which  was  unlike  Jamie 
Macleod  who  has  a  Scotch  tongue  —  a  long  and  caus 
tic  one  on  occasion. 

He  steadily  refused  to  say  goodby  to  me,  or  more 
than,  "  I  shall  see  you  in  Scotland  next  summer  — 
you  and  Ewart;  give  my  love  to  him." 


368  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

He  put  his  hand  from  the  coach  window,  and  said 
in  a  low  voice: 

"  I  made  such  an  ass  of  myself,  Marcia,  you  know 
how.  Forgive  me,  won't  you?  " 

I  forced  a  smile  for  answer.  There  is  such  a  thing 
as  the  comedy  of  irony. 

When  they  drove  away,  I  turned  to  the  empty 
house  —  empty  except  for  the  dogs  —  with  a  sigh  of 
relief.  It  was  good  to  be  alone. 


XXXI 

I  HE  ordering  of  the  house  kept  me  busy  the  next 
forenoon,  but  after  dinner  I  told  Cale  I  was 
going  over  to  Mere  Guillardeau's  to  tell  her 
about  her  brother. 

"  I  may  go  as  far  as  the  village,  Cale.  Don't  expect 
me  till  just  before  supper." 

"  All  right." 

I  told  but  half  of  the  truth.  I  determined  to  carry 
out  a  part  of  what  I  planned  on  that  voyage  down  the 
Saguenay.  If  there  were  anything  to  learn  from 
Mere  Guillardeau,  that  would  throw  light  on  that 
"  forest  episode "  connected  with  my  mother,  I 
wanted  to  know  what  it  was. 

I  found  the  old  woman  alone,  at  her  loom. 

"  Ah,  mademoiselle,  you  are  come  to  tell  me  of 
Andre,  my  brother?  You  are  more  than  welcome. 
And  how  goes  it  with  Andre  and  my  nephew?  Did 
he  send  me  a  pair  of  moccasins  for  my  old  feet,  such 
as  he  sent  by  the  seignior  last  year?  " 

She  left  her  work  and,  still  holding  my  hand,  drew 
me  to  the  little  porch,  where  we  sat  down  on  a  bench 
beneath  a  mass  of  wild  cucumber  vines. 

I  kept  her  hand  in  mine  —  that  old  hand,  which 
for  nearly  one  hundred  years  had  wrought  and  toiled, 
dug,  planted,  watered,  hoed,  milked  the  cow,  cut  the 
wood,  woven  cloth  and  carpets,  harvested  her  tobacco! 


370  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

That  prehensile  thing  which,  in  its  youth,  clasped 
the  hand  of  her  "  mate  "  at  the  altar,  cooked  for  him, 
sewed  for  him,  piecing  together  the  skins  from  the 
wilds,  when  he  was  at  home  from  the  trappers'  haunts ; 
and,  meanwhile,  it  had  found  time  to  rock  the  cradle 
for  her  seven  children  and  sew  the  shrouds  for  six  of 
them! 

To  me  it  was  a  marvellous  thing  —  that  hand ! 

I  looked  at  it,  while  I  was  trying  to  find  words  to  tell 
her  of  Andre.  It  was  thin  to  emaciation,  misshapen 
from  hard  work  —  a  frail  mechanism,  but  still  power 
ful  because  of  the  life-blood  coursing  within  it.  The 
dark  blue  veins  were  veritable  bas-reliefs. 

"  Dear  Mere  Guillardeau,  we  have  had  such  a 
lovely  summer  with  Andre  —  dear  old  Andre,  so 
young  in  heart." 

"  It  was  ever  like  that.    Is  he  well,  my  brother?  " 

"  I  hope  it  may  be  well  with  him  soon." 

The  old  woman  looked  at  me  earnestly  with  her 
small  deep-set  eyes,  faded  with  having  looked  so  long 
on  the  sunshine  and  shadows  of  life. 

"  He  is  dead,  my  brother?  " 

"  No,  not  yet.  Mr.  Ewart  wanted  me  to  tell  you 
just  as  it  is."  I  gave  her  the  details. 

She  sat  quietly,  her  hand  still  in  mine.  Into  her 
faded  eyes  there  crept  a  shadow  of  some  memory. 

"  I  have  not  seen  him  for  many  years,  mademoi 
selle." 

"  Was  that  when  he  made  his  voyage  to  Chicago?  " 

"  Yes.  On  his  return  he  spent  the  winter  with  me. 
We  had  comfort  together.  We  could  talk  of  old  times ; 
we  knew  Canada  when  we  were  young  —  that  was 
long  ago."  She  sat  quiet,  thoughtful.  Then  she  spoke 
again. 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  371 

"  You  will  tell  me  when  the  seignior  sends  word?  " 

"  Oh,  yes;  at  once." 

"  I  will  pray  for  him.  I  will  have  masses  said  for 
his  soul." 

"  Your  grandfather  was  born  in  the  seigniory  of 
Lamoral,  so  Andre  said." 

"  Yes;  and  my  father,  and  I,  and  my  brothers  and 
sisters.  My  grandfather's  seignior  was  French.  After 
wards,  the  English  seigniors  had  no  love  for  the  place. 
It  is  our  seignior,  the  Canadian,  who  cares  for  it.  He 
carries  it  on  his  heart  —  and  us,  too,  mademoiselle. 
You  know  this  land  is  mine  now?  " 

"  Yes;  I  am  so  glad  for  you.  It  should  have  been 
yours  long  ago." 

"  Yes,  it  is  mine  now  for  a  little  while;  afterwards 
it  will  be  my  daughter's." 

"  Do  you  know  the  old  manor  well?  Have  you  ever 
lived  there?  " 

"  Yes,  I  have  lived  at  the  manor  house." 

"  When  was  that,  mother?  " 

"  Let  me  think.  —  It  was  ten  years,  counting  by 
seedtime  and  harvest,  before  Andre  spent  that  winter 
with  me.  It  was  a  hard  one ;  he  helped  me  as  a  brother 
should.  It  was  then  he  was  shriven.  I  was  in  one  of 
the  pews  in  our  church,  waiting  my  turn.  There 
were  hundreds  come  for  the  shriving.  The  priest 
stood  in  the  aisle,  the  great  middle  aisle,  and  all  the 
time  there  were  two  kneeling  besides  him,  one  con 
fessing,  the  other  waiting  his  turn." 

"  Did  they  have  no  confessional?  " 

"  We  confessed  in  the  aisle,  mademoiselle,  before 
all  the  world,  —  we  all  knew  we  were  sinners,  —  and 
the  crowd  was  so  great.  Andre,  too,  I  saw  by  the 
side  of  the  priest,  whispering  in  his  ear." 


372  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

"  Andre!    What  could  his  simple  life  show  for  sin?  " 

"  He  is  human  like  the  rest  of  us,  mademoiselle." 

She  took  her  pipe  from  her  pocket.  It  reminded  me 
of  Andre.  I  filled  and  lighted  it  for  her,  and  placed  it 
between  her  still  strong  teeth. 

"  Andre's  was  the  sin  of  silence,  as  was  mine.  I, 
too,  confessed  it." 

I  wondered  if  she  would  tell  me  further.  I  waited 
in  suspense  for  her  next  words. 

"  You  ask  me  have  I  ever  lived  at  the  manor?  I 
lived  there  one  winter  —  a  cruel  winter  even  for  us 
Canadians.  It  is  so  long  ago,  I  may  speak  of  it  now. 
My  brother  will  never  speak  of  it  more.  It  eases  me 
to  speak  of  it.  It  was  Martinmas  when  an  English 
man  came  to  this  very  door.  It  was  after  dark.  He 
said  he  had  permission  from  the  English  seignior,  who 
was  in  England,  to  stay  in  the  manor  as  long  as  he 
would.  The  agent  of  the  estate  was  with  him  —  a 
hard  man.  He  said  it  was  all  right,  and  showed  me  a 
paper  which  I  could  not  read.  My  daughter  read  for 
me.  It  was  signed  by  the  English  seignior;  he,  too, 
was  a  Ewart.  The  English  gentleman  asked  me  if  I 
would  come  and  keep  the  house  for  him  and  his  wife; 
he  was  here  for  her  health.  Would  I  stay  till  spring? 

"  He  offered  me  twenty  pieces  the  month,  mademoi 
selle  —  twenty  pieces  !  That  meant  ease  of  mind  for 
me  and  my  daughter.  I  was  not  to  leave  the  manor  to 
go  home,  he  said.  I  must  stay  there  on  account  of  his 
wife. 

"  I  took  time  to  think;  but  the  twenty  pieces, 
mademoiselle!  My  daughter  said,  'Go;  it  will  keep 
us  for  three  years.' 

"  I  went  because  I  was  paid  twenty  pieces  the  month 
—  but,  mademoiselle,  I  would  have  stayed  and  worked 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  373 

for  her  for  nothing,  for  love  of  her  alone.  Mademoi 
selle,  look  in  your  mirror  when  you  are  at  home.  You 
will  see  her  again — -so  much  you  are  like  her;  but 
not  in  your  ways.  You  remember  the  first  time  you 
came  to  my  daughter  to  buy  the  carpets?  I  said  to 
myself  then,  '  I  have  lived  to  see  her  again.' ' 

"  How  long  ago  was  this,  Mere  Guillardeau?  " 

"  I  have  said  ten  years,  counting  by  seedtime  and 
harvest,  before  Andre  made  that  voyage  into  the 
west.  I  loved  her  —  and  my  brother  loved  her.  She 
made  sunshine  in  the  manor.  It  was  not  as  it  is  now; 
there  was  little  to  do  with.  She  made  light  of  every 
thing;  made  the  best  of  everything.  She  had  a  cow, 
for  the  warm  milk;  and  hens,  for  the  new-laid  eggs  — 
all  nourishing  and  good,  mademoiselle.  I  milked  the 
cow  and  tended  to  everything.  I  was  strong.  I  did  all 
the  work.  The  agent  bought  provisions  in  the  village 
and  brought  them  to  us.  They  came,  also,  from  Mon 
treal.  The  house  was  full  of  sunshine,  the  sunshine  of 
love,  mademoiselle. 

"  They  were  not  married  —  but  how  they  loved 
each  other!  I  carried  their  sin  on  my  soul.  I  never 
confessed  till  Andre,  too,  confessed.  We  confessed 
the  same  sin  —  the  sin  of  silence. 

"  In  the  spring  I  sent  them  to  Andre,  into  the  wil 
derness  of  the  northern  rivers.  My  brother  loved  her 
too,  my  poor  brother. 

"  It  is  long  past,  mademoiselle,  but  I  can  not  for- 
get." 

"  And  the  present  seignior  never  knew  of  this?  " 

"  The  present  seignior?  Oh,  no;  he  did  not  own 
Lamoral  then.  Sometimes,  it  is  true,  I  think  I  see 
in  him  a  look  of  that  other;  but  it  is  not  he.  I  never 
knew  their  names. 


374  A  Cr  in  the  Wilderness 

"  After  they  left .  hat  agent  took  that  cow  from  me, 
mademoiselle,  a  tie  cow  she  was.  He  is  dead  these 
many  years,  but  In  was  a  hard  man;  I  have  not  for 
gotten  or  forgiven,  lademoiselle."  She  crossed  her 
self.  "  The  cow  us  mine;  he  took  her,  mademoi 
selle  ;  a  fine  cow  wit  a  bag  as  pink  as  thorn  blossoms, 
and  seven  quarts  to  he  milking  —  I  cannot  forget." 

I  rose  to  go,  for  le  old  woman  threatened  to  be 
come  garrulous.  Mccover,  I  had  heard  enough.  The 
Doctor  was  mistake.  I  had  learned  what  I  came  to 
find  out.  I  felt  fortied  to  speak  with  Cale. 

"  Goodby,  Mere  Uillardeau." 

"  Goodby,  mademiselle.  You  will  come  again  and 
tell  me  of  my  brother '' 

"  Yes;  so  soon  as  have  any  word." 

She  stood  in  the  prch  to  watch  me  down  the  road. 

I  went  on  to  the  vikge.  As  I  neared  the  steamboat 
landing,  I  noticed  a  irge  river  sloop,  tacking  in  the 
light  breeze  to  the  ban.  I  stopped  to  watch  it.  Soon 
it  was  abreast  of  me.  walked  rapidly  on  to  keep  up 
with  it.  It  came  to  achor  nearly  opposite  the  caba 
ret.  Its  white  hull  -as  filled  with  apples.  There 
must  have  been  a  ton  r  two  —  early  harvest  apples, 
red,  yellow,  and  greer  Astrachan,  Porters  and  early 
Pippins. 

Surely  this  was  th  apple-boat  which  Jamie  de 
lighted  in  and  describd  with  such  enthusiasm!  I 
walked  to  the  bank.  .  low  trestle,  laid  in  a  width  of 
two  boards,  gave  passae  to  the  boat.  What  a  picture 
it  made!  The  low  grea  bank,  the  white  sloop,  the 
blue  lively  waters  of  te  St.  Lawrence,  and,  beyond, 
the  islands  stacked  wit! the  second  cutting  of  hay! 

I  went  on  board;  boght  a  few  apples;  promised 
to  come  for  a  bushel  or  wo  the  next  day,  and  asked 


A  Cry  in  the  vVilderness  375 

a  few  questions  of  the  owner  nd  his  wife,  French  both 
of  them. 

"  How  long  do  you  stay  *' 

"  Only  a  week.  This  caro  is  perishable.  We  sell 
here,  then  we  go  back  for  le  harvest  of  winter  ap 
ples.  We  come  again  in  Ocober." 

She  showed  me  with  pric  her  cabin  and  the  bunk 
under  the  companionway.  -herein  lay  her  eighteen- 
months-old  baby.  "  We  :uld  not  leave  him,"  she 
said,  wiping  a  bead  of  persiration  from  his  forehead. 
"  The  others  are  at  home  they  take  care  of  them 
selves." 

The  little  cabin  was  absiutely  neat. 

I  bade  her  goodby,  mac  a  few  purchases  in  the 
village,  and  walked  back  •)  Lamoral  with  a  lighter 
heart  than  I  had  carried  sice  I  left  camp.  The  old 
place  looked  so  beautiful  i  the  mellow  September 
sunlight. 

I  felt  less  burdened,  less  istless,  less  desperate,  less 
doubtful  of  the  future,  aftr  that  walk.  But  I  deter 
mined  to  wait  a  few  da\  before  speaking  to  Cale. 
I  wanted  to  go  over  the  viole  matter,  collate  facts, 
sort  evidence,  before  speaing. 

We  had  five  pleasant  da>  together,  Cale  and  I.  We 
grew  confidential,  as  becaie  relations.  We  talked  of 
the  Macleods ;  Cale  wageri  the  Doctor  would  marry 
Mrs.  Macleod  in  the  end.  .t  which  I  sniffed,  and  pre 
tended  to  think  he  woul  Jose  his  wager,  but  deep 
down  in  my  heart  —  well,  had  my  doubts. 

I  told  him  of  Andre,  of  he  Doctor's  enjoyment  of 
camp  life.  He  did  not  a£  me  about  Mr.  Ewart  di 
rectly,  and  I  volunteered  o  information,  except  that 
we  might  expect  a  telegrai  from  him  any  day. 

On  the  sixth  day  word  -ime: 


376  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

"Andre  has  crossed  the  last  portage;  return 
Wednesday." 

He  would  be  here  in  five  days!  My  first  thought 
was  of  him,  not  of  Andre. 

0  Andre,  dear  old  guide  and  voyageur!    You  were 
only  a  withered  leaf  falling  from  the  great  Ygdrasil 
Tree  of  Empire— falling  there  in  the  wilds  of  the  Upper 
Saguenay.    But  it  is  by  such  as  you  —  and  succeed 
ing  generations  of  millions  of  such  —  that  the  great 
Tree  of  Empire  has  thriven,  thrives,  and  still  keeps 
in  abundant  foliage! 

1  knew  the  time  had  come  when  I  must  tell  Cale  all. 


XXXII 

,  I  want  to  talk  with  you." 
"All  right,  Marcia.  I  see  you  've  had 
something  on  your  mind,  thet  Js  been  worry- 
in'  you,  since  you  've  come  home;  better  get  it  off. 
Nothin'  like  lettin'  off  a  little  steam  when  there  's  too 
many  pounds  pressure  on." 

"  Cale,  you  are  a  comfort." 

"  Am  I?  Wai,  it 's  'bout  time  I  was  something  ter 
you." 

"  Cale,  have  you  any  idea  where  my  mother  fled  to 
when  she  left  her  home?  " 

"  No;   an'  nobody  else." 

"  You  said  George  Jackson  could  get  no  trace  of 
her?  " 

"  Tried  four  months,  detectives  an'  all;  't  was  n't 
no  use.  She  was  gone." 

"But  did  you  have  any  idea  in  your  own  mind,  I 
mean,  as  to  where  she  might  have  gone?  " 

"  Wai,  I  can't  say  exactly.  I  did  think  'bout  thet 
time,  thet  mebbe  they  'd  crossed  the  line  inter  Canady ; 
but  it  ain't  likely  they  'd  go  north  with  the  winter 
before  'em.  Fact  is,  George  was  in  such  a  state,  I 
did  n't  think  nor  care  much  'bout  Happy,  if  he  could 
only  keep  his  head  level  through  it  all.  An'  he  did; 
he  had  grit,  an'  no  mistake.  'T  was  an  awful  blow, 
Marcia." 


378  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

"  It 's  my  belief  she  came  into  Canada." 

"  'T  is,  is  it?  What  makes  you  think  thet?  "  he 
asked  in  genuine  surprise. 

"  Circumstantial  evidence  that  is  convincing.  I 
believe  she  has  been  in  this  very  house  —  for  months 
too." 

He  looked  at  me  suspiciously.  (We  were  in  the 
dining  room;  one  on  each  side  of  the  table.)  I  saw  his 
forehead  knit;  then  he  spoke  in  a  low  voice,  but 
rather  anxiously: 

"  Here  in  this  house?  Ain't  you  got  your  circum 
stantial  evidence  a  little  mixed,  Marcia?  " 

"No;  listen." 

I  told  him  all,  linking  event  to  event,  incident  with 
incident  till  the  chain  was  complete.  I  fitted  his  story 
into  the  Doctor's  which  he  heard  for  the  first  time 
from  me;  I  added  Delia  Beaseley's  story,  then  An 
dre's,  and,  last,  Mere  Guillardeau's.  I  made  no  men 
tion  however  of  the  marriage  certificate  and  the  Doc 
tor's  last  talk  with  me. 

"  Now,  what  do  you  think  of  it,  Cale?  " 

"  I  see  which  way  you  're  heading,  Marcia,  but  —  " 
he  brought  his  fist  down  hard  on  his  knee,  —  "  you  're 
on  the  wrong  track." 

"  You  think  so?  " 

"  I  know  it."    He  spoke  with  loud  emphasis. 

"  You  have  no  idea,  now,  who  my  father  was,  or  is? 
Not  now,  after  I  have  brought  in  all  the  evidence 
available ;  except  — 

"  Except  what?  "    He  asked  quickly. 

"  Never  mind  that  now.  Tell  me,  have  you  any 
idea  who  he  was,  or  is?  " 

"  No,  and  nobody  else  thet  I  know  of.  She  had 
high  ideas,  Happy  had.  I  never  believed  she  took  up 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  379 

with  any  low  cuss,  not  much!  She  wasn't  the  kind 
to  fall  des'pritly  in  love  with  anybody  like  thet.  Be 
sides,  had  n't  she  had  a  man  that  was  a  man,  even  if 
he  was  only  a  boy  in  his  years,  to  love  the  very  ground 
she  trod  on?  Happy  was  one  of  the  uncommon  kind 
of  gals;  she  would  n't  take  up  with  anyone  thet  come 
along.  Now  thet  I  know  all  this  from  you,  I  guess  her 
love  for  thet  man,  whoever  he  was,  or  is,  went  'bout 
as  deep  with  her,  as  George's  love  for  her  went  with 
him.  Oh,  Lord!  It  makes  me  sick  to  think  of  Happy 
Morey  tryin'  to  throw  herself  inter  the  North  River." 

"Then,"  -  I  spoke  slowly,  hesitatingly;  I  gath 
ered  all  my  strength  to  ask  the  crucial  question — • 
"  you  don't  think  that  Mr.  Ewart  is  my  father?  " 

He  stared  at  me  as  if  I  had  taken  leave  of  my 
senses.  He  swallowed  hard  twice.  He  leaned  for 
ward  on  the  dining-room  table,  both  fists  pressed  rig 
idly  upon  it. 

"  Do  you  think  thet?  Have  you  been  thinkin'  thet 
all  this  time,  Marcia  Farrell?  " 

"  No.  I  not  only  do  not  think  it,  I  do  not  believe 
it.  I  was  told  so." 

"  Who  told  you?  "  he  demanded.  He  continued  to 
stare  at  me;  his  attitude  remained  unchanged. 

"  Doctor  Rugvie." 

"  What  the  devil  does  he  know  about  it?^" 

"  He  has  the  certificate  —  my  mother's  marriage 
certificate." 

"  To  which  one?  " 

"  To  my  father." 

"  An'  he  says  Ewart  is  your  father?  " 

"  He  believes  he  is  from  the  evidence  — 

"  Evidence  be  damned.  Has  he  shown  you  the 
name?  " 


380  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

"  No,  I  could  n't  —  I  would  n't  let  him  tell  me." 

"  I  glory  in  your  spunk,  Marcia." 

"  Then  you  do  not  believe  it,  Cale?  " 

"  Believe!  "  He  spoke  in  utter  scorn,  and  I  laughed 
out  almost  hysterically;  the  tension  was  relieved  too 
quickly. 

"  Look  here,  Marcia  Farrell,  or  whatever  your  name 
happens  to  be,  he  is  no  more  your  father  than  I  am." 
He  lifted  both  fists  and  brought  them  down  on  the 
table  with  the  solidity  of  a  stone-breaker's  hammer. 
"  It' s  God's  truth,  I  am  tellin'  you." 

I  laughed  again  in  the  face  of  this  statement  that 
so  suddenly  buttressed,  as  with  adamant,  my  broken 
life,  my  wrecked  hopes. 

"  Can  you  prove  it,  Cale?  "  I,  too,  leaned  across 
the  table,  my  hands  gripping  the  edge. 

"  Prove  it?  Wai,  I  guess  I  ain't  takin'  any  chances 
at  jest  this  cross  roads.  I  ain't  makin'  any  statements 
that  I  can't  take  my  oath  on." 

"  Prove  it,  then,  Cale  —  in  mercy  to  me,  prove  it." 

He  looked  at  me  with  inexpressible  pity.  His  eyes 
filled. 

"  You  poor  child!  As  if  you  had  n't  had  enough, 
'thout  bein'  murdered  this  way.  What  in  thunder 
was  the  Doctor  thinkin'  of?  " 

"  He  wanted  to  save  me  - 

"  Save  you,  eh?  Wai,  the  next  time  he  wants  to 
save  you  he  'd  better  borrow  the  life-preserver  from 
me.  You  can  tell  him  thet." 

"  Prove  it,  Cale." 

He  drew  a  long  breath  and,  reaching  over,  laid  his 
right  hand  over  mine. 

"  Marcia,  I  ain't  no  right  to  speak  —  to  break  a 
promise;  but,  by  God,  I  '11  do  it  this  time  to  save 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  381 

you  —  whatever  comes !  Gordon  Ewart  ain't  no 
more  your  father  'n  I  am,  for  he  was  your  mother's 
husband." 

"  My  mother's  husband?  "  I  echoed,  but  weakly. 
I  failed  for  a  few  seconds  to  comprehend. 

"  Yes,  your  mother's  husband.  Gordon  Ewart  is 
George  Jackson  —  George  Gordon  Ewart  Jackson, 
thet  is  what  he  was  christened,  an'  I  've  known  it 
sence  the  furst  minute  I  set  eyes  on  him  in  full  lamp 
light,  here  in  this  very  house  on  the  fifteenth  day  of 
last  November.  Do  you  want  any  more  proof?  " 

There  is  a  limit  to  human  suffering;  a  time  when  a 
surcharge  of  misery  leaves  mind  and  heart  and  soul 
numb.  It  was  so  with  me  upon  hearing  Gale's  state 
ment. 

"  Did  he  know  you?  "  I  asked  almost  apathetically- 

"  Yes,  but  it  took  him  twenty-four  hours.  I  Ve 
changed  more  'n  he  has." 

"  Why  did  n't  he  use  his  own  name?  " 

"  It  is  his  own.  He  sloughed  off  thet  part  of  it  thet 
hindered  him  from  cuttin'  loose  from  all  thet  old  life, 
he  said,  an'  made  the  new  one  legal." 

"  Did  he  know  me?  " 

"  I  don't  know  for  sure.  He  ain't  the  kind  to  rake 
over  a  heap  of  dead  ashes  for  the  sake  of  findin'  one 
little  spark.  But,  Marcia,  I  believe  he  knew  you  from 
the  minute  he  first  see  you  there  in  the  passageway." 

"  What  makes  you  think  so?  " 

"  Because  you  are  the  livin'  image  of  your  mother, 
as  I  told  you  once  before.  But  you  act  different.  An* 
he  loved  her  so,  he  could  n't  help  but  seem'  her  in 
you  —  " 

"Oh,  my  God!" 

I  think  it  was  a  groan  rather  than  an  exclamation. 


382  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

My  head  dropped  on  Gale's  hand,  as  it  lay  over  mine. 
The  flashlight  of  intuition  showed  me  the  truth:  this 
man,  my  mother's  husband,  the  man  who  was  dearer 
to  me  than  life  itself,  was  again  loving  her,  whom  he 
had  loved  only  to  lose,  in  me  —  her  daughter !  He 
was  loving  me  because  of  her,  not  because  of  myself. 

Oh,  I  saw  it  in  every  detail!  I  saw  every  ugly 
feature  in  every  act  of  the  whole  tragedy ;  and  I  saw 
myself  the  dupe  of  that  Past  from  which  I  had  tried 
so  hard  to  escape. 

I  raised  my  head.  My  decision  was  made.  I  looked 
at  Cale  defiantly.  I  think  every  fibre  of  me,  moral, 
physical,  mental,  spiritual,  revolted  then  and  there 
against  being  made  longer  a  mere  shuttlecock  for  the 
battledores  of  Fate. 

"  Cale,  when  does  the  next  afternoon  train  leave 
the  junction  —  the  one  that  connects  with  the  South 
ern  Quebec  for  New  England?  " 

"  Don't,  Marcia,  in  the  name  of  all  that 's  holy, 
don't  do  nothing  rash.    I  meant  it  for  the  best  — 
i    "  I  know  you  did;   but  that  won't  prevent  my  go- 
ing." 

"  But,  hear  to  reason,  Marcia;  wait  till  Ewart 
comes  —  hear  what  he  has  to  say  —  I  'm  placed 
where  I  can't  speak.  Wait  a  few  days." 

His  hand  felt  clammy  cold  under  mine.  I  pulled 
mine  away.  I  hurt  him,  but  I  did  not  care. 

"  There  is  nothing  to  be  said.  I  am  going.  When 
does  that  train  leave?  " 

"  Seven-five.  What  will  Ewart  say?  You  are  do 
ing  him  a  bitterer  wrong  than  your  mother  before 
you." 

I  laughed  in  his  face.  His  voice  grew  husky  as  he 
spoke  again: 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  383 

"  Stay  for  my  sake  then,  Marcia;  just  five  days  - 
I  'm  as  nigh  ter  you  as  any  in  this  world." 

"  Not  so  very,  Cale." 

Out  of  the  numbness  of  my  body,  out  of  my  bitter 
ness  of  heart,  out  of  the  depths  of  my  misery,  I  spoke: 

"  Cale,  listen.  For  twenty-six  years  I  was  in  this 
world,  and  four  men  —  the  one  people  call  my  father, 
you,  my  uncle-in-law  who  loved  your  wife,  my  moth 
er's  sister,  Doctor  Rugvie  who  brought  me  into  this 
world  and  made  but  two  attempts  to  find  me,  Mr. 
Ewart  who  as  George  Jackson  brought  me  home  in  his 
arms,  a  baby  three  days  old,  and  left  me  for  good  and 
all,  worse  than  orphaned  —  all  four  of  you,  how  much 
have  you  cared  for  me  in  reality?  Answer  me  that." 

There  was  silence  in  the  room.  I  heard  Cale  draw  a 
heavy  breath. 

"  You  don't  answer,"  I  went  on  unmercifully,  "  and 
I  am  going  away.  I,  too,  am  going  to  '  cut  loose'.  I 
want  you  to  go  down  to  Mere  Guillardeau's  and  tell 
her  Andre  is  dead,  and  the  seignior  will  be  here  in  five 
days." 

"  What  —  now?  "    He  moistened  his  lips. 

"  Yes,  now." 

"  But  you  had  n't  ought  ter  be  alone." 

"  I  am  not  alone;  the  dogs  are  here  and  little  Pete." 

He  rose  and  crossed  the  room.  At  the  door  he 
turned;  his  voice  trembled  excessively,  and  I  saw  he 
was  in  fear. 

"  Promise  me  you  won't  do  nothing  rash,  Marcia." 

I  laughed  aloud.    "  I  promise  —  now  go." 

When  I  heard  him  drive  away  from  the  house,  I 
went  upstairs  and  began  to  pack  my  trunk.  The 
sooner  I  could  get  out  of  Lamoral,  the  better  for  all 
concerned,  Mr.  Ewart  included.  Did  he  think  for  one 


384  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

moment  that  I  would  consent  to  being  loved  for  my 
mother's  sake?  Did  he  think  to  make  good,  through 
me,  the  loss  of  the  woman  he  loved?  How  had  he 
dared,  knowing,  yes,  knowing  all,  to  love  me  for  that 
other  who  never  loved  him !  Why  did  he  try  to  force 
his  love  upon  her  and,  by  changing  the  very  channels 
of  nature,  bring  all  this  devastation  of  misery  upon  my 
life?  Why,  why? 

I  packed  rapidly.  There  was  not  so  much  to  take 
with  me.  Then  I  went  through  the  rooms  one  after  an 
other:  the  living-room  —  the  office.  I  looked  at  the 
Meryon  etchings  • —  the  Pont  Neuf  and  Ste.  Etienne  — 
on  its  walls.  Upstairs,  too,  I  went;  into  Jamie's  room, 
into  Mrs.  Macleod's,  then  to  Mr.  Ewart's.  I  stopped 
short  on  the  threshold. 

"  Why  am  I  going  in  here?  "  I  asked  myself.  "  What 
am  I  doing  here?  "  I  stepped  in;  looked  about  at 
my  own  handiwork  —  then  at  the  bed.  I  crossed 
quickly  to  it  and  laid  my  cheek  down  upon  his  pillow. 

It  was  only  for  a  moment.  I  heard  wheels  on  the 
driveway.  Cale  was  returning. 

"  I  am  ready,  Cale.  You  can  take  us  over  with 
the  trunk  in  the  light  wagon;  little  Pete  can  go  with 
us." 

The  look  he  gave  me  was  pitiful,  but  it  made  no 
appeal  to  me. 

"  You  will  have  to  wait  good  forty  minutes  if  you 
go  now." 

"  I  don't  mind  it.  You  need  not  wait.  I  would 
rather  not  say  goodby." 

"  Where  are  you  goin',  Marcia?  " 

"  Don't  ask  me  that,  Cale;  I  don't  want  to  lie  to 
you.  I  shall  send  my  trunk  to  Spencerville.  This  is 
all  I  will  say." 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  385 

"  What  must  I  tell  George?  " 

For  a  moment  I  failed  to  comprehend  that  he  meant 
Mr.  Ewart. 

"  Tell  him  what  you  please." 

I  set  some  supper  on  the  kitchen  table  for  him  and 
little  Pete,  against  their  return. 

Cale  reharnessed  and  brought  the  wagon  to  the 
side  door. 

We  drove  those  nine  miles  in  silence,  except  for  little 
Pete  who  asked  several  pertinent  questions  as  to  the 
reason  of  my  going.  In  passing  through  Richelieu-en- 
Bas,  I  looked  for  the  apple-boat.  It  was  still  there. 
Little  Pete  begged  Cale  to  stop  to  see  it  on  their  way 
home. 

"  Not  to-night,  sonny,  it  '11  be  dark,"  he  said 
sternly;  "  we  '11  try  it  another  day."  I  thought  the 
small  boy  was  ready  to  cry  at  his  friend's  abrupt  re 
fusal. 

Cale  left  me  at  the  junction,  after  he  had  seen  me 
buy  a  ticket  for  Spencerville,  and  the  trunk  was 
checked  to  that  place. 

He  put  out  his  hand.  "  Marcia,  I  can't  defend  my 
self;  all  you  say  is  true  —  but  I  think  you  will  come 
to  see  ciifferent,  sometime.  We  're  all  human  an* 
liable  to  make  mistakes,  big  ones,  an'  I  can't  see  as 
you  're  an  exception." 

The  simple  dignity  of  this  speech  impressed  me 
even  in  those  circumstances.  I  put  my  hand  in  his. 

"  '  Sometime  ',  Cale?  It  has  always  been  '  some 
time  '  with  me.  It  is  going  to  be  '  never  again  '  now; 
no  more  mistakes  on  my  part." 

"  You  will  write  me  a  word  —  sometime,  won't 
you,  Marcia?  " 

"  I  won't  promise,  Cale.    I  want  to  be  alone.    After 


386  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

all,  I  am  only  going  away  from  here  as  I  came  —  to 
find  work  and  a  livelihood.    Goodby." 

I  think  he  understood.  He  did  not  bid  me  goodby, 
but  went  away  down  the  platform,  walking  slowly, 
stooping  a  little,  his  head  drooping,  as  if  all  courage 
had  failed  him.  And  my  heart  was  hardened. 


XXXIII 

WATCHED  him  and  little  Pete  drive  away  down 
the  highroad;  watched  them  out  of  sight. 
Then  I  sat  down  on  the  bench  outside  the  wait 
ing-room  to  think,  "  What  next?  " 

I  had  no  intention  of  going  to  Spencerville.  My 
trunk  would  be  safe  there  with  the  address  of  a  neigh 
bor  of  my  aunt.  What  I  most  wanted  was  to  be  alone 
and  time  to  think,  time  to  regain  strength  for  the 
struggle  before  me. 

I  don't  know  that  for  ten  minutes  I  thought  at  all. 
I  suppose  I  must  have,  for  I  remembered  that  at  this 
hour  Jamie  and  Mrs.  Macleod  were  to  sail;  that  the 
Doctor  was  on  his  way  to  San  Francisco.  That  Cale 
could  do  nothing  by  telegraphing  them.  And  what 
would  he  telegraph? 

The  ticket-agent  and  baggage-master  locked  the 
office  door  and  came  over  to  me. 

"  I  'm  going  up  the  road  a  piece;  the  train  is 
twenty  minutes  late.  You  won't  mind  sitting  here 
alone?  " 

"  Oh,  no.    It  is  a  lovely  evening." 

"  No  frost  to-night."  He  went  off  on  the  highroad 
in  the  opposite  direction  from  Richelieu-en-Bas. 

The  evening  promised  to  be  fine;  the  sun  set  clear 
in  the  sky.  Somewhere  in  the  distance,  I  heard  a 
night  hawk's  harsh  cry. 


388  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

The  dusk  fell;  still  I  sat  there,  not  thinking  much  of 
anything.  I  had  my  hand-bag  with  me  and  my  warm 
coat.  I  opened  my  bag  and  took  out  an  apple ;  I  had 
eaten  nothing  since  breakfast  and  felt  faint.  The 
apple  was  an  Astrachan.  I  found  myself  calculating 
what  it  cost  —  this  one  apple.  I  must  begin  to  count 
the  cost  again  of  every  morsel,  although  I  had  all  my 
wages  with  me.  But  ten  weeks  of  sickness  —  and 
where  would  they  be! 

I  put  my  teeth  into  the  apple  —  A  thought :  the 
apple-boat  —  it  was  to  leave  soon  —  the  week  was 


up 


I  rose  from  the  bench,  not  stopping  to  take  a  second 
bite;  took  my  hand-bag;  threw  my  coat  over  my 
shoulder,  and  started  down  the  road  to  Richelieu-en- 
Bas. 

It  was  rapidly  growing  dark.  One  mile,  two  miles, 
three  miles  —  the  night  was  there  to  cover  me.  I  was 
thankful.  Five  miles,  six  miles  —  I  was  entering  the 
long  street  of  the  village.  The  lindens  and  elms  made 
the  road  black.  I  strained  my  eyes  to  see  the  lights. 
That  from  the  cabaret  was  the  first  —  then  a  green 
one  above  the  water,  several  feet  it  looked  to  be.  It 
must  be  the  apple-boat! 

It  was  just  the  time  in  the  evening  when  the  men 
flock  to  the  cabaret.  As  I  drew  near  it,  I  heard  the 
sound  of  the  graphophone.  I  listened,  not  stopping 
in  my  walk. 

"  0  Canada,  pays  de  mon  amour!  " 

I  stopped  then;  and  it  seemed  as  if  my  heart  stopped 
at  the  same  time. 

Oh,  it  had  been  "  Canada,  land  of  my  love  "  in  the 
deepest  sense  —  and  now ! 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  389 

I  went  on  to  the  boat;  crossed  the  trestle.  At  the 
sound  of  my  footstep  on  the  deck,  the  woman  put  her 
head  up  the  companionway. 

"  Who  's  there?  " 

"  Some  one  who  wishes  to  speak  with  you  alone;  I 
was  here  the  other  day." 

"  I  know  your  voice,  but  I  don't  know  your  name. 
You  can  talk;  my  husband  is,  at  present,  yonder  in 
the  cabaret;  he  will  be  in  by  half -past  ten.  We  sail 
to-night  if  the  wind  holds  good." 

"  To-night?  " 

"  Yes;  and  what  is  that  to  you?  "  she  asked  sus 
piciously. 

"  May  I  come  into  the  cabin?  " 

"  But,   yes.     Come." 

I  sat  down  on  the  stool  she  placed  for  me.  I  was 
tired  with  the  long  walk. 

"  I  have  been  called  away  from  here,  where  I  have 
been  at  service  —  " 

"  You  —  at  service?  "  she  asked  in  surprise. 

"  Yes;  and  I  am  going  away  to  find  another  place. 
Will  you  take  me  with  you  in  the  boat?  May  I  go 
with  you  to  your  home,  wherever  it  is?  " 

She  looked  at  me  suspiciously.    "  I  don't  know  - 
my  husband  —  " 

"  I  will  pay  you  well,  whatever  you  ask  — 

1  ( It  is  n't  that,"  —  she  hesitated,  —  "  but  I  don't 
know  who  you  are." 

"  I  am  myself,"  I  said  wearily;  "  I  am  tired  of  my 
place,  and  they  don't  want  me  to  leave.  I  want  to 
go  —  I  am  too  tired  to  stay  —  " 

"  Too  hard,  was  it?  " 

"  Everything  was  too  hard.  I  come  from  Spencer- 
ville,  just  over  the  line;  you  know  it?  " 


390  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

"  Oh,  yes.  My  cousin  settled  there  when  the  new 
tannery  was  built  last  year." 

"  All  my  family  lived  there.  I  am  now  alone  in  the 
world.  I  have  sent  my  trunk  on  —  but  I  want  a 
complete  rest  before  I  go  out  to  service  again.  I 
thought  I  could  get  it  with  you.  I  don't  want  to  let 
the  family  know  I  have  gone.  The  family  are  all 
away  at  present." 

"  Where  have  you  been  at  work?  " 

"  At  the  old  manor  of  Lamoral,  three  miles  away." 

"  I  have  heard  of  it;  they  bought  ten  barrels  of 
apples  last  year."  She  seemed  to  be  thinking  over 
some  matter  foreign  to  me,  at  that  moment. 

"  Won't  you  take  me?    I  am  so  tired." 

"  You  say  you  can  work?  " 

"  Try  me." 

"  We  are  going  back  for  the  second  harvest.  We 
live  near  Iberville.  We  have  orchards  there,  and  help 
is  always  scarce  at  this  time.  Will  you  help?  " 

"  Oh,  yes;  anything.  I  can  do  the  housework  for 
you,  if  necessary." 

"  You  don't  look  tough  enough  for  that." 

"  Try  me." 

"  I  '11  speak  to  my  husband  when  he  comes  in." 

"  All  I  ask  of  you  is,  that  you  will  not  let  him  tell 
anyone  here  that  I  am  on  the  boat." 

"  He  has  a  tight  mouth  —  a  good  head;  he  will  do 
as  I  say." 

"  That  settles  it,"  I  thought. 

"  If  you  will  stay  here  with  my  baby,  I  '11  just  step 
over  to  the  cabaret  and  call  him  out.  We  can  talk 
better  in  the  road." 

"  Yes." 

She  climbed  the  steps,  and  I  heard  her  heavy  tread 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  391 

on  the  deck  —  her  steps  on  the  trestle-boards.  After 
that,  nothing  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  except  the  soft 
lap  of  the  river  running  past  the  boat. 

They  came  back  together,  the  man  with  a  lantern 
which  he  hung  at  the  stern. 

"  He  says,  my  Jean,  that  you  can  come  with  us,  if 
you  will  hire  out  for  a  month." 

"  Tell  him  I  will  hire  out  to  you  for  that  time.  And 
how  much  shall  I  pay  you  for  the  passage?  " 

"  Jean  says  that 's  all  right,  —  you  can't  leave  us 
unless  you  can  swim,  —  and  we  're  more  than  glad  to 
get  the  help." 

"  I  can  sleep  on  the  deck;  I  have  a  warm  coat." 

"  Oh,  no;  my  husband  often  sleeps  on  deck  when 
we  are  at  anchor;  but  to-night  he  will  not  sleep  at 
all.  WegotoSorel;  we  must  be  there  by  three  in  the 
morning.  You  can  sleep  in  his  bunk." 

She  parted  some  curtains  and  showed  me  a  two-and- 
a-half  feet  wide  bunk  beneath  the  sloping  deck.  I 
thanked  her. 

"  If  the  wind  should  come  up  heavy,  I  shall  do  the 
steering,"  she  said.  "  I  will  be  down  after  we  get 
under  way.  I  help  Jean." 

She  went  up  the  tiny  companionway,  and  I  heard 
her  talking  in  a  low  voice  to  "  Jean  ".  Soon  there  was 
a  noise  of  trailing  ropes,  of  a  sail  being  hoisted;  a 
sound  of  pushing  and  hauling  —  a  soft  swaying  mo 
tion  to  the  boat,  then  the  ripple  of  the  water  under 
her  bow. 

I  lay  down  in  the  bunk;  the  sound  of  the  ever- 
flowing  river  soothed  me.  I  was  worn  out. 


BOOK  THREE 
FINDING   THE   TRAIL 


A  DREAM  would  seem  more  real  to  me  than  the 
experience  of  that  night. 
I  listened,  half  sleeping,  half  waking,  to  hear 
only  the  ripple  of  water  under  the  bow.     Towards 
morning  the  wind  freshened.     I  heard  great  commo 
tion  overhead.     Evidently  Jean  and  Madame  Jean 
were  taking  in  sail.    I  knew  we  must  be  near  Sorel.    I 
went  up  on  deck  to  ask  if  I  could  be  of  any  help. 

"  Not  now,"  said  Madame  Jean  who  was  busy  with 
the  gaskets;  "  but  when  we  come  in  to  Sorel  there 
will  be  some  merchants  on  the  wharf  to  get  the  rest 
of  our  apples.  If  you  will  mind  the  baby  then,  I 
shall  not  have  him  on  my  hands  if  he  wakes  up." 

"  To  be  sure  I  will.  May  I  stay  here  on  deck  for  a 
little  air?  " 

"  But,  yes;  you  cannot  sleep  in  this  noise." 

The  morning  stars  paled.  The  light  crept  out  of 
the  east  along  the  pathway  of  the  great  river.  The 
sun  rose,  turning  its  waters  to  gold. 

We  were  late  in  getting  into  Sorel.  While  there  I 
remained  in  the  cabin  with  the  baby  who  was  still 
asleep.  By  seven  o'clock  we  were  off  again  —  the 
merchants  had  been  willing  to  lend  a  hand  in  un 
loading.  We  had  a  fair  brisk  wind  for  our  sail  up  the 
Richelieu,  or  Sorel  River. 

Madame  Jean  made  us  coffee,  gave  us  doughnuts, 


396  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

cheese,  and  thickly  buttered  bread.  The  fresh  milk 
for  the  baby  was  taken  on  at  Sorel,  and  the  little  fel 
low,  who  could  creep  but  not  walk,  gave  me  plenty 
to  do.  Madame  Jean  laughed  at  my  attempts  to  con 
fine  him  in  one  place;  he  seemed  to  be  all  over  the 
deck  at  once.  She  called  out  merrily  from  the  tiller: 

"  Eh,  mademoiselle,  you  have  never  had  one,  I  can 
see!  You  have  much  to  learn.  Here,  take  the  tiller 
for  a  moment,  I  will  show  you." 

She  took  a  small-sized  rope  that  had  a  hook  at  one 
end  and  a  snap-catch  at  the  other.  She  caught  up  the 
baby  and,  turning  him  over  flat  on  her  lap,  showed 
me  a  stout  steel  ring  sewed  into  the  band  of  his  blue 
denim  creeper.  Into  this  she  fastened  the  snap  and, 
hooking  the  other  end  into  the  belt  of  my  skirt,  set 
him  down  on  the  deck. 

"  Voila!  "  she  said  triumphantly.  I  found  the  ar 
rangement  worked  perfectly  and  relieved  me  from  all 
anxiety.  He  was  tethered ;  but  he  could  roam  at  large, 
so  he  thought. 

All  day  we  voyaged  up  the  Richelieu  between  the 
rich  Canadian  farm-lands,  the  mountains,  faintly 
blue  on  the  horizon,  rising  more  and  more  boldly  in 
the  south,  as  we  approached  the  Champlain  country. 
Just  before  sunset  we  glided  up  to  an  old  wharf  at 
Iberville. 

There  followed  a  series  of  shouts  and  whistles  from 
the  head  of  it.  There  was  a  frantic  waving  of  aprons. 
A  rough  farm  wagon,  drawn  by  an  old  pepper-and- 
salt  horse  and  loaded  with  children,  bore  down  upon 
us,  rattling  over  the  loose  planks  like  a  gun  carriage. 
The  old  horse  was  spurred  on  by  flaps  and  jerks 
of  the  reins  which  were  handled  by  a  fine-looking 
bareheaded  girl  on  the  board  that  served  for  a  seat. 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  397 

There  were  answering  shouts  from  Jean  and  Ma 
dame  Jean;  answering  wavings  of  towels  and  shirts 
which  had  been  drying  on  the  rail  — all  equally  frantic. 
Then  the  whole  cartful  tumbled  out  on  the  wharf, 
almost  before  the  horse  came  to  a  halt,  and,  literally, 
stormed  the  sloop. 

Jean  and  his  wife  were  lost  to  my  sight  in  the  chil 
dren's  embrace ;  fourteen  arms  were  trying  to  smother 
both  at  the  same  time.  I  was  holding  the  baby  when 
the  horde  descended  on  him,  and  only  the  fact  that 
I  was  a  stranger  prevented  me  from  sharing  the  fate 
of  their  mother. 

"  They  are  good  children,  eh?  "  said  Madame 
Jean  proudly,  with  a  blissful  smile.  She  smoothed 
her  tumbled  hair  and  twisted  her  apron  again  to  the 
front  of  her  plump  person. 

I  was  properly  introduced  by  my  own  name  which 
I  gave  to  madame  and  her  husband.  The  whole 
family  fairly  pounced  upon  the  few  belongings  in  the 
boat  and  carried  them  to  the  great  wagon.  Madame 
Jean,  holding  the  baby,  sat  in  the  middle  enthroned 
on  the  pile  of  bunk  cushions ;  the  children  crowded  in 
around  her.  I  was  asked,  as  a  compliment,  to  sit 
beside  Monsieur  Jean  on  the  board  seat  which  he 
covered  with  an  old  moth-eaten  buffalo  robe.  He  took 
the  reins,  and  amid  great  rejoicings  we  jolted  up  the 
wharf  into  the  main  street  of  Iberville,  the  whole 
family  exchanging  greetings  with  every  passer  by,  it 
seemed  to  me,  just  as  fervently  as  if  they  had 
but  recently  returned  from  an  ocean  voyage.  Our 
wagon  —  a  chariot  of  triumph  —  rattled  on  through 
the  town  and  out  into  the  open  country.  They 
chatted  all  together  and  all  at  once.  I  failed  to  under 
stand  what  it  was  about,  for  several  of  the  children 


398  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

were  very  young  and  their  French  still  far  from  per 
fect.  Their  voices  were  pitched  on  A  sharp,  and  the 
effect  was  astonishing  as  well  as  ear-splitting. 

They  paid  no  attention  to  me.  I  was  grateful.  I 
felt  myself  again  a  stranger  in  the  midst  of  this  alien 
family  life. 

Two  miles  out  from  the  town,  we  came  to  the  roof- 
tree  of  the  Duchenes,  —  this  was  their  name,  —  and 
within  half  an  hour  we  sat,  eleven  of  us,  around  the 
kitchen  table  at  supper.  From  beneath  it,  an  old 
hound  protruded  his  long  nose,  and  caught  with  a 
snap  the  tidbits  that  were  thrown  to  him.  A  huge 
Maltese  cat  settled  herself  across  my  feet.  A  canary 
shrilled  over  all  the  noise.  In  the  midst  of  the  merry 
meal  —  blackberries  and  milk,  hot  fried  raised  bread 
with  maple  syrup  —  the  whole  family  was  apparently 
thrown  into  convulsions  by  the  appearance  in  the 
room  of  a  pet  goat  and,  behind  him,  the  old  pepper- 
and-salt  horse  that  Monsieur  Duchene  had  turned  out 
in  the  yard  to  graze! 

There  was  a  general  uprising;  charge  and  counter 
charge,  shrieks,  laughter.  The  baby  and  I  were  the 
only  ones  left  at  the  table.  Then,  humiliating  exodus 
of  the  beasts  and  triumphant  entry  of  the  family.  The 
supper  proceeded. 

And  afterwards  —  never  shall  I  forget  that  little 
scene!  —  after  the  dishes  were  washed,  the  goat  fed, 
the  horse  bedded  and  the  baby  asleep,  the  seven  chil 
dren  placed  themselves  in  a  row,  the  oldest  girl  of 
fifteen  at  the  head,  and  waited  for  a  signal  from  their 
father:  a  long  drawn  chord  on  a  mouth  harmonicum. 
Together  parents  and  children  sang  the  Angelus,  sang 
till  the  room  was  filled  with  melody  and,  it  seemed  to 
me,  the  soft  September  night  without  the  open  door. 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  399 

This  was  my  introduction  to  the  family  Duchene. 
I  slept  in  an  unfinished  chamber.  A  sheet  was  tacked 
to  the  rafters  over  the  bed.  The  window  beside  it 
looked  into  a  mass  of  trees. 

Oh,  those  orchard  slopes  of  Iberville!  I  made 
intimate  acquaintance  with  them  for  the  next  four 
weeks.  I  worked  hard.  I  was  up  at  five  to  help 
Madame  Jean  with  the  breakfast  and  the  housework, 
what  there  was  of  it;  then  we  were  all  off  to  the  or 
chards  to  pick  the  wholesome,  beautiful  fruit  — 
Northern  Spies,  Greenings,  Baldwins  and  Russets. 
To  use  Jamie's  expression,  their  "  fragrance  is  in  my 
nostrils  "  as  I  write  of  them. 

At  noon  we  had  lunch  —  bread  and  butter,  with 
jerked  beef,  cheese,  apples,  washed  down  with  the 
sweetest  of  sweet  cider  from  the  mill.  There  was  no 
stint  of  the  simple  fare.  Then  at  work  again  —  all  the 
children  joining,  except  the  baby  who  roamed  at  will 
among  the  orchard  grass  with  two  small  pigs  that 
scampered  wildly  to  and  fro. 

It  was  work,  work — picking,  sorting,  packing,  till 
the  shadows  were  long  on  the  grass  and  the  apple-cart 
was  piled  high  with  windfalls.  The  barrels  were  filled 
with  picked  fruit  of  the  choicest.  And  after  supper, 
regularly  every  evening,  we  sang  the  Angelus. 

This  life  was  beneficial  to  me.  I  made  no  plans. 
I  was  glad  to  work  hard  in  order  to  drown  thought,  to 
keep  my  body,  as  it  were,  numb.  I  really  dared  not 
think  of  what  ivas,  for  then  I  could  not  sleep;  could 
not  be  ready  for  the  next  day's  work.  To  forget  my 
self;  this  was  my  sole  desire.  Madame  Duchene 
watched  my  \vork  with  ever  increasing  admiration. 
Monsieur  Duchene  wanted  to  engage  me  for  another 
season. 


400  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

"  But  you  must  not  leave  us  this  winter,  mademoi 
selle.  We  need  you,"  he  said  one  day,  after  nearly 
four  weeks  had  passed.  He  was  preparing  to  set  out 
on  his  return  voyage  down  the  Sorel  to  Richelieu-en- 
Bas. 

"  Others  may  need  me,  Monsieur  Duchene.  I  have 
been  so  content  in  your  home;  it  has  done  me  good." 

"  Mademoiselle  has  some  sorrow?  Can  we  help, 
my  wife  and  I  ?" 

"  You  have  helped  me  by  trusting  me,  by  letting 
me  make  one  of  your  family  all  these  weeks." 

"But  you  will  keep  the  house  till  we  return?  " 

"  I  should  like  to  do  this  for  you,  but  I  cannot  stay 
so  late  here  in  the  country.  I  must  find  employment 
for  the  winter." 

"  We  cannot  afford  to  pay  you,  mademoiselle,  but 
you  shall  have  your  keep,  if  you  will,  for  your  help 
and  your  company,  while  you  stay."  Madame  Du 
chene  spoke  earnestly. 

"  I  cannot,  dear  Madame  Duchene;  it  is  time  for 
me  to  go." 

"  May  I  ask  where,  Mademoiselle  Farrell?  "  she 
asked,  with  such  gentle  pity  audible  in  her  voice,  such 
kindly  thoughts  visible  in  her  bright  blue  eyes,  that, 
for  a  moment,  I  wavered.  This  was,  at  least,  a  shelter, 
a  "  retreat  "  for  both  my  soul  and  my  body. 

"  I  do  not  know  as  yet." 

"  What  can  we  do  for  you?  "  she  urged. 

"  But  one  thing:  say  nothing  to  any  one  in  Riche- 
lieu-en-Bas  that  you  have  seen  me,  that  I  have  been 
with  you  —  that  you  know  me,  even." 

"  As  you  will." 

I  remained  with  the  children  who  declared  they 
should  be  desolate  if  I  went  on  the  same  day  that 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  401 

father  and  mother  left  them.  Together  the  children 
and  I  watched  the  apple-boat,  loaded  to  the  gunwale, 
sail  away  from  Iberville  wharf. 

Two  days  after  that,  the  children  drove  me  to  the 
station.  I  took  the  day  express  to  New  York. 

I  decided  to  go  to  Delia  Beaseley. 


II 

NOT  in  its  aspect  of  Juggernaut  did  the  great  city 
receive  me  that  hot  September  night  at  half- 
past  eight,  but  as  a  veritable  refuge  where  I 
could  lose  myself  among  its  millions. 

I  welcomed  the  roar  of  its  thoroughfares,  the  noises 
of  its  traffic;  they  deafened  my  soul.  Jamie's  voice 
saying:  "  We  shall  see  you  in  Crieff  next  summer  — 
you  and  Ewart,"  grew  faint  and  far  away.  Gale's 
voice  pleading,  Gale's  voice  warning  me :  "  You  are 
doing  him  a  bitterer  wrong  than  your  mother  before 
you,"  became  less  distinct. 

The  flashing  electric  signs  were  welcome  and  the 
white  glaring  lights  of  Broadway.  They  dazzled  me; 
they  helped  to  blind  my  inner  sight  to  that  vision  of 
Mr.  Ewart,  standing  on  the  shore  of  the  little  cove, 
far  away  in  that  northern  wilderness,  and  looking  into 
my  eyes  with  a  look  that  promised  life  in  full. 

I  rode  down  the  Bowery  oblivious  of  myself;  I  was 
lost  in  wonder  at  the  multitudes.  I  knew  those  mul 
titudes  were  composed  of  individuals;  that  those  in 
dividuals  were  distinct  the  one  from  the  other.  Each 
had  his  experience,  as  I  was  having  mine.  Life  was 
interpreting  itself  to  each  in  different  terms:  to  some 
through  drink;  to  others  through  prostitution;  to  a 
few  —  thank  God,  only  a  few!  —  through  threatened 
starvation;  to  a  host  through  the  blessing  of  daily 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  403 

work;  to  hundreds  of  unemployed  through  the  misery 
of  suspense.  And  love,  hate,  faithfulness,  treachery 
—  all  were  there,  hidden  in  the  hearts  of  those  multi 
tudes. 

Some  lines  of  William  Watson's  kept  saying  them 
selves  over  and  over  to  me  in  thought,  as  I  watched 
those  throngs;  as  I  listened  to  the  glare  of  street 
bands,  the  grinding  of  hurdy-gurdies,  and  heard  the 
flow  of  street  life,  which  is  the  life,  of  the  foreign  East 
Side; 

"  Momentous  to  himself,  as  I  to  me, 
Hath  each  man  been  that  ever  woman  bore; 
Once,  in  a  lightning-flash  of  sympathy, 
I  felt  this  truth,  an  instant,  and  no  more." 

"  Momentous  to  himself."  Oh  yes  —  not  a  soul 
among  those  thousands  who  was  not  "  momentous 
to  himself  ",  no  matter  how  low  soever  fallen!  "  Mo 
mentous  to  himself  "  -  I  watched  the  throngs,  and 
understood. 

I  made  my  way  into  V—  -  Court,  unafraid  and 
unmolested.  Delia  Beaseley  opened  the  door.  At 
sight  of  her  all  the  pent-up  emotion  of  weeks  threat 
ened  to  find  vent. 

"  Delia,  it  is  I,  Marcia  FarreU  —  " 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  my  dear,"  she  cried,  as  she  drew  me 
into  the  hall  under  the  dim  light.  "  It  is  good  to  see 
you  again!  But  what  is  it?  "  she  asked  anxiously, 
lifting  my  hat  from  my  face.  "  Are  you  sick?  " 

I  could  not  answer  her.  She  led  me  into  the  back 
room  I  remembered  so  well.  There,  as  once  before, 
she  pushed  me  gently  into  the  rocking-chair.  She 
removed  my  hat  and  brought  a  fan. 

"  What  is  it,  my  dear?    Can't  you  tell  me?  " 


404  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

Oh,  how  many  times,  during  her  life  of  helpfulness, 
she  must  have  asked  that  question  of  homeless  girls 
and  despairing  women! 

"  Delia,"  I  began;  then  I  hesitated.  Should  I  tell 
her,  or  carry  in  silence  my  trouble  about  with  me?  Be 
fore  I  could  speak  again,  she  had  her  arms  —  those 
motherly  arms  I  had  felt  before  —  around  me ;  my 
head  was  on  her  shoulder;  my  arms  about  her  neck. 
I  sobbed  out  my  story,  and  she  comforted  me  as  only 
a  woman,  who  has  suffered,  can  comfort. 

"  Let  me  stay  a  little  while  with  you,  Delia,  till  I 
get  work  again." 

"  Stay  with  me!  Bless  your  heart,  I  couldn't  let 
you  go  if  you  wanted  to.  Here  's  my  Jane  —  she  's  out 
now  —  ready  to  drop  with  the  work  and  the  heat ; 
we  Ve  had  a  long  spell  of  it,  and  I  not  knowing  where 
to  turn  for  help  just  now,  for  I  want  her  to  go  away  on 
a  vacation;  she  needs  it.  Just  you  stay  right  here  with 
me,  and  I  '11  pack  Jane  off  to-morrow." 

"  Have  you  —  is  any  body  with  you?  "  I  asked. 

"  Yes."  She  nodded  significantly.  "  There  's  two 
of  'em  on  my  hands  now.  One's  got  through,  and  the 
other  is  expecting  soon.  Both  of  'em  can't  see  the 
use  of  living,  and  Jane  's  about  worn  out." 

"  You  will  let  me  help?  I  can  do  something,  if  it 's 
only  the  housework." 

"  I  can  tend  to  that."  She  spoke  decidedly. 
"  What  I  want  is  to  have  you  round  'em,  comforting 
'em,  cheerin'  'em  — 

"  I  comforting,  I  cheering,  Delia?  " 

She  nodded  emphatically.  "  Yes,  my  dear,  just 
that.  Your  work  is  cut  out  for  you  right  here,  for  a 
few  weeks  anyway.  You  come  upstairs  with  me  now 
and  set  with  one  of  'em,  and  give  her  a  bowl  of  gruel 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  405 

-I  was  just  going  to  come  up  with  one  from  the 
kitchen  when  you  rung,  —  while  I  get  Jane's  things 
together;  she  '11  be  in  by  ten.  She  's  over  to  one  of 
the  Settlement  Houses  helping  out  to-night." 

Somehow,  on  hearing  this  account  of  Jane's  activity 
-  tired  Jane  who  could  help  and  rescue  at  home,  and 
then  go  out  to  the  Settlement  House  to  give  of  her 
best  till  ten  at  night  —  my  own  life  dwindled  into 
insignificance.  The  true  spirit  of  the  great  city  en 
tered  into  me.  I  felt  the  power  of  it  for  good.  I  felt 
its  altruism;  I  realized  its  deepest  significance;  and 
I  saw  wherein  lay  my  own  salvation  from  selfish  brood 
ing,  from  forbidden  craving,  from  morbid  thinking. 

"  Let  me  have  Jane's  work,"  I  said. 

We  talked  no  more  that  night  of  matters  that  were 
personal.  I  gave  my  whole  time  and  strength  to  help 
"  bring  her  through  ",  as  Delia  defined  the  state  of 
things  in  regard  to  a  girl,  five  years  younger  than  I, 
"  who  had  missed  her  footing  ". 

It  was  an  anxious  week.  There  was  delirium, 
despair,  suicidal  intent;  but  we  "  brought  her 
through  ". 

While  watching  by  that  girl's  bedside,  I  relived  that 
experience  of  my  mother,  the  result  of  which  was  that 
I,  Marcia  Farrell,  was  there  to  help.  In  those  night 
watches  I  had  time  for  many  thoughts.  Gale's  voice 
grew  insistent,  for  the  roar  of  the  city  was  subdued 
at  one  and  two  in  the  morning : 

"  You  are  doing  him  a  bitterer  wrong  than  your 
mother  before  you." 

Over  and  over  again  I  heard  those  words.  The 
undertone  of  metropolitan  life,  when  at  its  lowest 
vitality,  went  on  and  on.  — Two  o'clock,  three.  The 
girl  on  the  bed  grew  quiet;  delirium  ceased.  Four  - 


406  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

I  heard  the  rattle  of  the  milk-carts  and  the  truck 
gardeners'  wagons  coming  up  from  the  ferries. 

"  You  are  doing  him  a  bitterer  wrong  than  your 
mother  before  you."  Over  and  over  again  I  heard  it. 

Gale's  voice  was  louder  now,  more  and  more  insist 
ent.  All  that  day  I  heard  it  above  the  push-cart  ven 
dors'  cries  and  the  hurdy-gurdy's  dance  music,  above 
the  roar  of  the  Second  Avenue  Elevated  and  the  poly 
glot  street  clamor. 

Yes,  I  had  to  acknowledge  it:  my  mother  had 
wronged  him.  I  visualized  that  act  in  her  life.  I  saw 
her  promising  to  marry  him,  although  she  was  un 
willing.  I  saw  her  giving  herself  in  marriage  to  him 
in  the  presence  of  the  minister  and  her  sick  father.  I 
saw  her  young  husband  creeping  out  in  the  night  to 
watch  for  her  shadow  on  the  curtain.  I  saw  him  lying 
down  to  sleep  a  little  after  his  vigil  —  but  I  could  not 
see  my  mother  when  she  left  the  house.  Not  until 
she  made  sunshine  in  the  old  manor,  where  I  was  con 
ceived,  not  until  she  made  sunshine  in  the  forest  for 
old  Andre,  could  I  see  her  again  in  her  youth  and 
beauty,  in  the  enjoyment  of  her  stolen  bliss. 

But  I  could  see  him  whom  she  deserted.  I  saw  him 
in  the  pasture  among  the  colts.  I  saw  him  raving  at 
being  made  her  dupe ;  I  saw  him  even  raising  his  hand 
against  Cale.  I  saw  him  in  his  fruitless  search,  east, 
west,  north,  south.  I  saw  him  leaving  the  very  house 
in  which  I  was  watching.  I  saw  him  broken,  changed, 
"  cutting  loose  "  from  his  old  life,  determined  to  relive 
in  other  conditions,  in  other  lands.  I  saw  him  return 
ing  from  that  far  Australian  country  to  that  house 
where  my  mother's  steps  had  resounded  on  the  old 
flagging  in  the  passageway  at  Lamoral,  —  unknowing 
of  her  former  presence  there,  unknowing  that  her 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  407 

daughter  was  there  awaiting  him,  —  to  that  place 
which  I,  also  unknowing,  had  made  home  for  him.  I 
saw  him  living  again  in  his  love  for  me  who  was  her 
daughter !  — •  and  he  knew  this !  Knew  I  was  her 
daughter. 

How  had  he  dared?  And  he  her  husband  —  my 
mother's  husband!  The  thought  was  staggering. 

I  looked  at  the  girl  on  the  bed.  She  was  asleep,  but 
her  respiration  was  rapid;  she  was  breathing  for  two. 
"  What  if  - 

I  dared  scarcely  formulate  my  thought.  Was  he 
her  husband?  Did  merely  the  spoken  word  make 
Gordon  Ewart  and  my  mother,  man  and  wife?  What 
was  it  Cale  said :  she  had  pleaded  so  with  his  mother 
not  to  be  with  her  husband  that  first  night  of  her  mar 
riage.  And  there  was  no  second. 

I  began  to  see  differently,  as  Cale  predicted. 
Horror,  shame,  humiliation,  despair,  jealousy  of  my 
own  mother  —  all  this  that  obstructed  vision,  de 
flected,  distorted  it,  was  being  cleared  away. 

Had  Mr.  Ewart  come  to  look  at  this  matter  in  the 
same  light,  that  he  had  never  been  my  mother's  hus 
band?  That  words,  alone,  could  never  make  him  that? 

"  You  are  doing  him  a  bitterer  wrong  than  your 
mother  before  you."  Perhaps  Cale  was  right. 

"  Why  was  he  silent?  "  I  asked  myself,  and  found 
the  answer:  he  could  not  have  gained  my  love,  had  I 
known.  And  he  wanted  my  love  —  wanted  me,  and 
me  alone  of  all  the  world  for  his  mate.  But  how  could 
he,  knowing? 

I  lost  myself  in  conjecture,  but  I  began  to  see 
clearly,  differently.  My  own  act,  my  desertion  of 
him,  after  what  he  had  mutely  promised,  was  becom 
ing  a  base  thing  in  my  eyes. 


408  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

I  asked  Delia  Beaseley  once,  if  she  had  heard  any 
word  from  Mr.  Ewart. 

"  No,  not  a  word,"  she  said  decidedly,  "  and  re 
membering  how  he  looked  when  he  braced  up  and 
walked  into  this  very  basement  twenty-seven  years 
ago,  I  don't  expect  to  hear  from  him.  I  ain't  judgin' 
you,  my  dear,  but  you  've  done  an  awful  thing." 

"  And  what  of  his  act?  " 

"  Well,  there  are  two  ways  of  looking  at  that,"  was 
all  she  would  say.  She  used  Gale's  very  words,  when 
he  told  his.  story. 

I  asked  once  again,  if  she  had  heard  from  the  Doctor? 

"  No.  He  was  going  out  to  California.  He  come  to 
see  me  before  he  went,  and  he  said  he  'd  about  given 
up  the  farm  plans;  that  he  could  n't  see  his  way  clear 
to  carry  them  out  for  the  present.  And  I  don't  mind 
telling  you,  that  he  said  he  would  put  half  the  interest 
money  on  that  '  conscience  fund  ',  as  he  calls  it,  that 
he  thinks  your  father  provides  to  ease  his  soul,  to 
helping  me  here  in  my  work." 

I  remembered  what  I  had  advised  on  that  mem 
orable  evening  in  Lamoral  —  and  I  wondered  at  the 
ways  of  life. 

We  "  brought  the  girl  through  "  with  help  of  nurse 
and  doctor.  She  and  her  child  were  saved,  saved  for 
good  as  I  have  every  reason  to  believe,  for  I  have  kept 
in  touch  with  her  ever  since.  I  am  her  friend,  why 
quite  such  a  friend,  I  do  not  feel  called  upon  toexplain. 

I  answered  the  door  bell  one  day  when  the  baby  up 
stairs  was  ten  days  old  —  and  found  myself  face  to 
face  with  Cale. 


Ill 


WHEN  I  saw  him,  I  acknowledged  to  myself 
my  weakness.  Deep  down  in  my  heart  I 
had  been  longing,  with  a  desire  which 
was  prayer,  that  I  might  have  some  word  from 
Lamoral. 

"  Cale  —  Cale,  dear,  come  in."  I  caught  his  hand, 
which  was  not  outstretched  to  mine,  to  draw  him  in. 
"If  we  were  n't  the  observed  of  all  in  this  court  I 
would  kiss  you  on  the  spot."  He  continued  to  stare 
at  me;  he  did  not  speak. 

"  Cale,  forgive  me  for  my  hardness  of  heart  —  say 
you  forgive  me,  for  I  can't  forgive  myself;  I  was  — 

He  interrupted  me,  speaking  quietly: 

"  I  know  what  you  was;  you  can't  tell  me  nothin' 
'bout  thet,  Marcia.  I  ain't  laid  up  nothin'  you  said  to 
me,  nor  nothin'  you  said  against  nobody;  but  I  ain't 
fergiven  yer  fer  leavin'  me  without  knowin'  of  your 
whereabouts  — 

"  Cale,  I  had  to  be  alone  —  " 

"  I  don't  care  whether  you  had  to  be  alone  or 
not,"  he  said  testily;  "  you  might  have  let  me  know 
where  you  was  goin'.  You  was  n't  fit  to  go  alone, 
nor  be  alone.  My  hair  's  turned  gray  thinkin'  what 
might  happen.  Where  was  you?  "  he  demanded 
sternly. 

"  I  was  in  Iberville." 


410  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

I  led  him  unresisting  into  the  back  room ;  it  was  my 
turn  to  place  some  one  in  the  rocking-chair. 

"  Iberville!  How  in  thunder  did  you  get  to  Iber- 
ville  when  you  did  n't  go  on  the  train?  " 

"  How  did  you  know  I  did  n't  go  on  the  train?  " 

"  The  baggage-master  told  me.    How  did  you  go?  " 

"  In  the  apple-boat." 

"  Wai,  I  'm  stumped.  How  long  did  you  stay 
there?  " 

"  Nearly  four  weeks.    Why?  " 

"  Why?  Because  I  'd  been  doing  detective  work  on 
my  own  account.  (How  my  heart  sank  at  those 
words;  Mr.  Ewart  had  not  attempted  to  find  me 
then!).  I  've  been  doin'  it  for  the  last  six  weeks.  This 
is  the  third  time  I  Ve  been  in  New  York." 

"  But  not  here?  " 

"  Yes,  here  —  in  this  very  house.  I  give  Mis' 
Beaseley  the  credit;  she  knows  how  to  hold  her 
tongue.  I  see  she  ain't  told  you." 

"  No.  But  you  have  n't  been  here  since  I  've  been 
in  the  house?  " 

"  No,  I  just  got  here  to-day." 

"  How  did  you  happen  to  come  this  third  time, 
Gale?  " 

"  I  come  because  the  Doctor  told  me  to  try  it  again 
here  —  " 

"  The  Doctor?    Is  he  at  home?  " 

"  Guess  he  is  by  this  time;  I  left  him  at  Lamoral 
yesterday  - 

"  At  Lamoral?  "  On  hearing  that  word,  a  trembling 
I  could  not  control  seized  upon  me.  If  only  Cale 
would  speak  of  Mr.  Ewart! 

"  Yes,  Lamoral.  I  Ve  been  lyin'  right  and  left  to 
Angelique  an'  Pierre,  an'  Marie,  an'  Mere  Guillardeau 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  411 

an'  all  the  folks  'round  that 's  been  inquirin' ;  but  I 
didn't  lie  to  the  Doctor  —  not  much!" 

"  How  —  how  did  the  Doctor  happen  to  be  in  La- 
moral?  " 

"  Guess  you  fergot  he  said  he  'd  like  enough  come 
back  by  the  C.  P." 

I  was  silent.  I  saw  that  Cale  did  not  intend  to 
speak  Mr.  Ewart's  name  first.  He  was  leaving  it  to 
me. 

"  Look  here,  Marcia,  I  'm  goin'  to  talk  to  you  for 
once  in  my  life  like  a  Dutch  uncle.  I  don't  mean  to 
live  through  another  six  weeks  like  those  I  've  been 
through,  if  I  should  live  to  be  a  hundred." 

"  I  am  sorry,  Cale,  to  have  been  the  cause  of  any 
anxiety,  any  suffering  on  your  part  —  but  I,  too,  suf 
fered  —  and  far  more  than  you  can  ever  know."  I 
spoke  bitterly. 

"  I  ain't  denyin'  you  suffered  — •  but  there  's  others 
to  consider;  others  have  suffered,  too,  I  guess,  in  a 
way  you  don't  know  nothin'  about,  bein'  a  woman." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Cale?  "  I  asked,  trying  to 
make  him  speak  Mr.  Ewart's  name. 

"  Mean?  Marcia  Farrell,  you  know  what  I  mean. 
Ain't  you  got  a  woman's  heart  beatin'  somewhere  in 
your  bosom?  " 

"Oh,  Cale,  don't!" 

"  I  've  got  to,  Marcia;  you  've  got  to  see  things 
different,  or  you  '11  rue  the  day  you  ever  blinded  your 
self  to  facts." 

"  Is  Mr.  Ewart  ill?  " 

"  111?  "  There  was  a  curious  twitch  to  his  mouth 
as  he  repeated  that  word.  "  Wai,  it  depends  on  what 
you  call  '  ill '.  That 's  a  pretty  mild  word  for  some 
sorts  of  diseases  —  " 


412  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

"  Oh,  Gale,  tell  me  quick  —  don't  keep  me  waiting 
any  longer  — 

"  Any  longer  for  what?  " 

"  You  know,  Cale,  I  want  to  hear  of  him  —  know 
about  him  — 

"  Oh,  you  do,  do  you?  Wai,  it  's  pretty  late  in  the 
day  for  you  to  show  some  feelin'.  Look  here,  Marcia, 
I  ain't  goin'  to  meddle.  I  meddled  once  thirty  years 
ago  when  I  tried  to  persuade  your  mother  she  loved 
George  Jackson,  an'  I  Ve  lived  to  curse  the  day  I  did 
it.  I  ain't  goin'  to  fall  inter  the  same  trap  this  time, 
you  bet  yer  life  on  thet;  but  I  'm  goin'  to  speak  my 
mind  'fore  I  leave  you  here.  Will  you  answer  me  one 
plain  question,  an'  answer  it  straight?  " 

"  I  '11  try  to." 

"  Do  you  think  different  from  what  you  did?  Have 
you  come  to  see  things  any  different  from  what  you 
put  'em  to  me?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Wai,  thet 's  to  the  point;  now  we  can  talk.  The 
Doctor  and  Ewart  was  talkin'  this  over  'fore  I  come 
away;  I  heard  every  word.  I  was  right  there,  and 
they  asked  me  to  be.  Gordon  Ewart  told  the  Doctor 
that  when  he  fust  see  him  aboard  ship,  that  was  nine 
teen  years  ago,  he  made  his  acquaintance  because  he 
knew  he  was  the  man  who  had  brought  you  inter  this 
world.  He  never  let  him  go.  He  kept  in  touch  with 
him.  He  come  to  be  his  closest  friend.  An'  he  never 
told  that  he,  Gordon  Ewart,  is  the  one  that  puts  that 
money  regularly  into  the  Doctor's  hands,  without  his 
knowin'  who  it  comes  from,  for  the  sake  of  helpin' 
others  —  " 

"  But  he  did  not  think  of  me."  I  could  not  help 
it;  I  spoke  bitterly. 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  413 

"  No.  He  did  n't  want  to  think  of  you.  He  wanted 
to  ferget  there  was  anybody  or  anything  in  this  world 
to  remind  him  of  what  he  'd  suffered  from  Happy 
Morey;  an'  he  tried  his  best.  An'  he  told  the  Doctor 
that  when  he  'd  thought  he  'd  conquered,  when  he 
come  to  see  things  different  too,  he  come  back  to 
settle  in  the  old  manor  an'  carry  out  his  ideas.  An' 
the  very  fust  night,  he  found  you  there.  He  said  he 
knew  then,  he  could  n't  get  away  from  his  past;  it 
was  livin'  right  there  along  with  him. 

"  Marcia,  I  ain't  meddlin',  and  mebbe  I  'm  to 
blame ;  but  when  I  told  you  what  I  did,  I  done  for  the 
best  as  I  thought.  The  Doctor  done  for  the  best  as 
he  thought.  He  believed  you  were  Ewart's  daughter, 
and  he  see  what  we  all  could  n't  help  seem'  - 

"  What,  Cale?  "  I  longed  to  hear  from  Gale's  lips 
that  he  had  seen  Mr.  Ewart's  love  for  me. 

"  You  know,  Marcia  Farrell,  I  ain't  goin'  ter  tell 
you.  The  Doctor  said  he  thought  fust  along,  it  was 
because  Ewart  knew  he  was  your  father;  but  he  said 
his  eyes  was  opened  mighty  sudden  —  an'  it  'bout 
made  him  sick,  for  he  thinks  a  sight  of  you,  Marcia. 
I  see  from  the  fust  how  things  was  driftin'  with 
George,  and  as  him  an'  me  had  recognized  one 
'nother  from  the  fust,  an'  as  he  did  n't  say  he  knew 
you,  I  kept  still.  I  was  n't  goin'  to  meddle,  an'  I 
ain't  goin'  to  meddle  now  —  only  I  'm  goin'  straight 
off  to  tell  him  where  you  are." 

"  But  he  has  n't  tried  to  find  me  - 

"  No,  nor  he  never  will.  Your  mother  'bout  killed 
him  when  he  was  a  boy,  an'  he  is  n't  goin'  to  run  after 
you.  who  has  'bout  killed  him  again  as  a  man.  You 
don't  know  nothin'  what  you  've  done.  I  've  been 
through  hell  with  him  these  last  six  weeks,  an'  I  went 


414  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

through  it  with  him  once  before  twenty-eight  years 
ago,  an'  that  hell  compared  with  this  was  like  a  camp- 
fire  to  a  forest-roarer.  —  Now  you  know." 

"  Cale  —  Cale,  what  have  I  done?  " 

"  You  've  done  what  will  take  the  rest  of  your  life 
to  undo.    I  ain't  goin'  to  meddle,  I  tell  you,  but  I  'm 
tellin'  you  just  as  things  stand.     My  part 's  done  — 
for  I  've  found  you;  an'  I  'm  goin'  to  tell  him  so." 

He  stood  up ;  as  it  were,  shook  himself  together,  and 
without  any  ceremony  started  for  the  door. 

"Cale,  don't  go  yet  —  I  want  to  tell  you;  you 
don't  see  my  position  - 

"  Position  be  hanged.  I  guess  folks  that  find  their 
lives  hangin'  by  a  thread  don't  stop  to  argify  much 
'bout  '  position  ' ;  they  get  somewhere  where  they 
can  live  —  thet  's  all  they  want." 

He  was  at  the  front  door  by  this  time.  I  grasped 
his  arm  and  held  it  tight. 

"  You  will  come  again,  Cale,  you  must." 

"  I  'm  goin'  home  to  Lamoral  as  quick  as  the  Mon 
treal  express  can  get  me  there.  I  can't  breathe  here 
in  this  hole!  " 

He  loosened  his  shirt  collar  and  took  off  his  coat. 
It  was  an  unseasonable  day  in  November  —  an  Indian 
summer  day  with  the  mercury  at  eighty-four.  The 
life  of  the  East  Side  was  flooding  the  streets.  He 
turned  to  me  as  he  stood  on  the  low  step.  "  I  hope  it 
won't  be  goodby  for  another  six  weeks,  Marcia." 

"  Cale,  oh,  Cale  —  " 

He  was  off  down  the  court  with  a  long  stride  pe 
culiar  to  himself.  I  saw  him  step  over  a  bunch  of 
babies  playing  in  the  mud  at  the  corner  of  the  court. 
He  turned  that  corner  into  the  street,  I  went  in  and 
shut  the  door. 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  415 

Delia  Beaseley  was  out  for  the  entire  forenoon,  but 
Jane,  who  had  returned  from  her  two  weeks  vacation, 
was  upstairs.  I  had  plenty  of  time  to  think,  to  feel. 
I  must  have  sat  there  in  the  back  room  for  an  hour  or 
more,  then  the  front  door  bell  rang  again. 

I  answered  it  —  and  found  Mr.  Ewart. 


IV 

ARE  you  alone?  " 
"  Yes." 
"  I  wish  to  see  you  for  a  few  minutes." 

"  Come  into  the  back  room." 

I  led  the  way.    I  heard  him  shut  the  front  door. 

There  was  no  word  of  welcome  on  the  part  of  either, 
no  hand  extended.  All  I  could  see,  as  he  stood 
there  momentarily  on  the  step,  was  the  set  face,  the 
dark  hollows  beneath  his  eyes,  the  utter  fatigue  in  his 
attitude.  He  stood  with  his  hand  on  the  door  jamb, 
bracing  himself  by  it.  So  he  must  have  stood  long 
years  before  when  he  came  to  seek  my  mother.  That 
was  my  thought. 

He  did  not  sit  down;  but  I  —  I  had  to;  I  had  not 
strength  left  to  stand. 

"  I  'm  going  to  ask  you  a  few  questions." 

"  Yes."  My  tongue  was  dry;  my  lips  parched.  It 
was  with  difficulty  I  could  articulate. 

"  What  did  you  think  I  promised  you,  even  if  with 
out  words,  that  last  time  I  saw  you  in  camp?  " 

"  All." 

"  What  did  you  promise  me  when  you  looked  into 
my  eyes,  there  on  the  shore  of  the  cove?  " 

"  All."    I  had  no  other  word  at  my  command. 

"  And  what  did  '  all '  mean  to  you?  " 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  417 

I  could  not  answer. 

"  Did  it  mean  that  you  were  to  be  my  wife,  that  I 
was  to  be  your  husband?  " 

"  I  thought  so." 

"  And  you  came  to  think  otherwise  — 

"  How  could  it  be,  oh,  how  could  it  be?  "  I  cried  out 
wildly,  the  dumb  misery  finding  expression  at  last. 
"  How  could  it  be  when  you  are  my  mother's  hus 
band  —  " 

"  Stop!  Not  here  and  now.  I  will  not  hear  that  — 
not  here,  where  I  found  her  dead  in  this  basement; 
not  now,  when  I  have  come  to  find  her  child.  Listen 
to  me.  Answer  me,  as  if  before  the  judgment  seat 
of  your  truest  womanhood  and  our  common  humanity. 
Is  she  a  wife  who  never  loves  the  man  who  loves  her, 
and  is  married  to  her  in  the  law?  Answer  me." 

"  No." 

"Is  he  a  husband  who  never  receives  the  pledge 
of  love  from  the  woman  he  loves,  and  to  whom  he  is 
married  in  the  law?  Answer  me  again." 

"  No." 

"  Can  words  merely,  the  '  I  promise  ',  the  '  I  take  ', 
make  marriage  in  its  truest  sense?  Tell  me." 

"  No." 

"  Was  the  woman  who  never  loved  me,  my  wife  in 
any  true  sense  for  all  the  spoken  words?  " 

"  No,"  I  answered  again,  but  my  voice  faltered. 

"  Was  the  man  who  loved  her,  her  husband  simply 
by  reason  of  those  few  spoken  words?  " 

"  No  —  but  —  " 

"  Yes,  I  know  what  you  would  say;  the  words,  at 
least,  were  spoken  that  made  us  before  the  world  man 
and  wife  in  the  law  —  but  how  about  the  '  before 
God  '  ?  " 


418  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

I  could  not  answer.  The  man  who  was  cross- 
questioning  me  was  trying  to  get  at  the  truth  as  I 
saw  it. 

"  The  law  can  be  put  aside,  and  I  put  it  aside;  I 
was  divorced  from  her.  But  what  difference,  except 
to  you,  does  that  make?  Marcia  Farrell,  I  was  never 
your  mother's  husband.  Had  I  been,  had  I  taken  her 
once  in  my  arms  as  wife,  can  you  think  for  one  mo 
ment  that  I  would  have  stayed  in  the  manor,  con 
tinued  in  your  presence  —  watching,  waiting,  longing 
for  some  sign  of  love  for  me  on  your  part?  You  can 
not  think  it  —  it  is  not  possible." 

His  voice  shook  with  passion,  with  indignation. 
He  bent  to  me. 

"  Tell  me,  in  mercy  tell  me,  what  stands  between  us 
two?  Speak  out  now  from  the  depths  of  your  very 
soul.  Lay  aside  fear;  there  is  nothing  to  fear,  believe 
me.  I  am  fighting  now  not  only  for  my  life,  but  for 
yours  which  is  dearer  to  me  than  my  own.  Speak." 

I  took  courage.  I  looked  up  at  him  as  he  bent  over 
me. 

"  I  thought  you  loved  my  mother  in  me  —  I  was 
afraid  it  was  not  I  you  loved,  not  Marcia  Farrell,  but 
Happy  Morey." 

"You  thought  that!  —  And  I  never  knew."  He 
spoke  rapidly,  with  a  catch  in  his  voice  which  sounded 
like  a  half  laugh  or  a  sob. 

He  straightened  himself  suddenly,  then,  as  sud 
denly,  he  bent  over  me  again,  took  my  face  between 
his  hands  and  looked  into  my  eyes,  as  if  by  looking  he 
could  engrave  his  words  on  my  brain. 

"  I  swear  to  you  by  my  manhood,  that  I  have  loved 
and  love  you  for  yourself,  for  what  you  are.  I  swear 
to  you  by  my  past  life,  a  life  that  has  never  known  the 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  419 

love  of  a  woman,  that  the  past  no  longer  exists  for 
me ;  that  it  no  longer  existed  for  me  from  the  moment 
I  saw  you  coming  down  stairs  that  first  night  at  La- 
moral.  I  waited  this  time  to  make  sure  that  a  woman 
loved  me  as  I  wanted  to  be  loved,  as  I  must  be  loved 
—  and  I  waited  too  long.  You  are  not  like  your 
mother,  except  in  looks.  You  are  you  —  the  woman 
I  want  to  make  my  wife,  the  woman  I  look  to,  to  make 
life  with  me.  Marcia!  Let  the  past  bury  its  dead  - 
what  do  we  care  for  it?  We  are  living,  you  and  I  - 
living  —  loving  — 

He  drew  me  up  to  him  —  and  life  in  its  fulness  began 
for  me.  .  .  . 

"  And  now  put  on  your  hat,  give  me  your  coat,  and 
come  with  me,"  he  said  a  half  an  hour  afterwards. 

"  Where?  " 

"  To  the  City  Hall  to  get  our  marriage  licence." 

"  To-day?  " 

"  Yes,  now,  before  luncheon.  Tell  Jane  you  will 
not  return  - 

"  But  my  bag  —  shall  I  take  that?  And  Delia, 
what  will  —  " 

"  Delia  must  look  out  for  herself;  you  can  explain 
by  letter.  Tell  Jane  to  have  your  bag  sent  this  after 
noon  to  this  address."  He  gave  me  a  card  on  which  he 
scribbled,  "  Check  room  of  the  Grand  Central  Sta 
tion  ".  "  We  can  be  married  at  the  magistrate's 
office  - 

I  must  have  shown  some  disappointment  at  this 
decision,  for  he  asked  quickly: 

"  What  is  it,  Marcia?  Tell  me.  Remember,  I  can 
bear  nothing  more." 

I  took  a  lighter  tone  with  him.    I  saw  that  the  nerv- 


42O  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

ous  strain  under  which  he  was  suffering  must  be  re 
lieved. 

"  I  am  disappointed,  yes,  downright  disappointed. 
Even  if  you  don't  want  to  make  certain  promises,  I 
confess  I  do.  I  want  to  say  '  I  promise  ';  I  want  to 
hear  myself  saying  '  I  take  you  '  and  '  till  death  do  us 
part '.  I  want  to  say  those  very  words;  I  would 
like  the  whole  world  to  hear.  Why,  think  of  it,  I  am 
going  to  be  your  wife!  Do  you  grasp  that  fact?  "  I 
said,  smiling  at  him. 

I  won  an  answering  smile. 

"  Have  your  own  way;  I  may  as  well  succumb  to 
the  inevitable  now  as  at  any  time,  for  you  will  always 
have  it  with  me." 

"  Oh,  I  would  n't  be  so  mean  as  to  want  it  all  the 
time,  besides  it  would  be  so  monotonous;  but  I  do 
want  it  this  once  —  the  great  and  only  '  once  '  for 
me." 

"  Where  do  you  want  to  be  married?  Have  you 
any  preference?  " 

"  A  decided  one.  I  want  to  be  married  in  the  chapel 
of  St.  Luke's,  and  I  want  Doctor  Rugvie  to  give  me 
away.  As  you  both  came  down  last  night  from  La- 
moral,  I  don't  believe  he  is  away  from  the  city,  now  is 
he?" 

"  He  is  up  at  St.  Luke's.  He  said  he  should  be  there 
till  five.  I  was  to  telephone  him  there." 

"  Then  at  five  it  shall  be,"  I  declared,  with  an  em 
phasis  that  made  him  smile  again. 

"  At  five  you  shall  be  married;  but,  remember,  I  am 
the  party  of  the  second  part."  He  spoke  half  whimsi 
cally;  I  was  so  glad  to  hear  that  tone  in  his  voice.  I 
welcomed  the  joy  that  began  to  express  itself  normally 
in  merry  give  and  take. 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  421 

"  No,  first,  Mr.  Ewart  —  always  first  —  " 

"  I  don't  see  it  so." 

"  Not  at  present,  but  you  will  when  I  am  Mrs. 
Ewart.  I  want  to  ask  you  a  question." 

"  Yes,  anything." 

"  Have  you  ever  seen  those  papers  that  Doctor 
Rugvie  has  in  his  possession?  " 

"  No,  and  I  never  want  to.    They  are  yours." 

"  But  I  don't  want  to  see  them  either.  You  do  not 
know  their  contents?  " 

"  No;  only  that  there  is  a  marriage  certificate 
among  them  and  a  paper  or  two  for  you."  I  noticed 
he  avoided  mentioning  my  mother's  name. 

"  Gordon  —  "I  called  him  so  for  the  first  time,  and 
was  rewarded  with  a  kiss,  after  which  intermezzo,  I 
finished  what  I  had  to  say: 

"  —  You  say  let  the  past  bury  its  dead;  so  long  as 
those  papers  exist,  it  will,  in  a  way,  live.  I  would  like 
to  know  that  they  do  not  exist." 

"  You  are  sure  you  do  not  care  to  know  your  parent 
age?  " 

"  No.  Why  should  I?  What  is  that  to  me?  It  is 
enough  that  I  am  to  be  your  wife  —  and  what  my 
mother  said,  or  did  not  say,  could  not  influence  me 
now.  She  never  could  have  anticipated  this.  Besides, 
there  might  be  some  mention  by  her  of  my  parentage." 

"  You  express  my  own  thought,  my  own  desire, 
Marcia.  Shall  we  ask  John  to  destroy  them?  " 

"  Yes,  and  the  sooner  the  better." 

He  drew  a  long  breath  of  relief. 

"  Then  that  chapter  is  closed  —  and  I  have  you 
to  myself,  without  knowledge  of  any  other  tie.  I 
thank  God  that  I  have  come  into  my  own  through 
you  alone.  Come,  we  must  be  going." 


422  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

"  I  '11  just  run  up  stairs  and  tell  Jane  that  I  shall 
not  come  back  here,  and,  Gordon  — 

"  Yes?  " 

"  I  want  something  else  with  all  my  heart." 

"  What,  more?    I  am  growing  impatient." 

"  I  want  Delia  Beaseley  and  Cale  for  witnesses  — 

"  It  is  wonderful  how  a  man  can  make  plans  and  a 
woman  undo  them  when  she  has  her  way!  I  was  in 
tending  to  be  married  by  a  magistrate,  and  then  carry 
you  off  unbeknown  to  Cale  and  Company,  and  tele 
phone  to  them  later.  Now,  of  course,  they  shall  be 
with  us." 

I  left  word  with  Jane  to  tell  her  mother  to  be  at 
St.  Luke's  chapel  promptly  that  afternoon  at  five; 
it  was  a  matter  of  great  importance  and  that  Mr. 
Ewart  would  be  there.  At  which  Jane  looked  her 
amazement,  but  had  the  good  sense  to  say  nothing. 

We  left  the  house  together.  Together  we  rode  up 
the  Bowery.  We  procured  our  licence,  and  together 
we  rode  on  the  electrics  up  to  the  Bronx  and,  after 
wards,  had  our  luncheon  at  the  cafe  in  the  park  on  the 
heights.  As  the  short  November  afternoon  drew  to 
a  close,  we  rode  down  to  St.  Luke's.  It  was  already 
five  when  we  entered  the  chapel. 

Delia,  Cale  and  the  Doctor  were  there,  waiting  for 
us;  but  they  spoke  no  word  of  greeting,  nor  did  we. 
They  followed  us  in  silence  to  the  altar  where,  with 
our  three  friends  close  about  us,  we  were  made  man 
and  wife. 

At  the  end  of  the  short  service,  the  two  men 
grasped  my  husband  by  the  hand.  But  still  no  word 
was  spoken.  It  remained  for  Cale  to  break  the  silence; 
he  turned  to  me. 

"  Guess  you  've  found  the  trail  all  right  this  time, 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  423 

Marcia."  His  voice  trembled;  he  tried  to  smile;  and 
I  —  I  just  threw  my  arms  around  his  neck  and  gave 
him  what  he  termed  the  surprise  of  his  life:  a  hearty 
kiss.  The  Doctor,  of  course,  claimed  the  same  favor, 
and  Delia  Beaseley  dissolved  suddenly  into  tears  — 
poor  Delia,  I  am  sure  I  read  her  thought  at  that  mo 
ment  !  —  only  to  laugh  with  the  next  breath,  as  did 
all  the  rest  of  us,  for  Cale  spoke  out  his  feelings  with 
no  uncertain  sound. 

"  I  guess  I  '11  say  goodby  till  I  can  see  you  again 
in  the  old  manor,  Mis'  Ewart,  an'  I  hope  you  '11  be  ter 
home  soon  as  convenient.  I  ain't  had  a  square  meal 
fer  the  last  six  weeks.  Angelique  has  filled  the  sugar 
bowl  twice  with  salt  by  mistake,  an'  put  a  lot  of  celery 
salt  inter  her  doughnuts  three  times  runnin'  —  an' 
all  on  account  of  her  bein'  so  taken  up  with  Pete. 
An'  he  ain't  much  better  even  if  he  was  a  widower; 
he  fed  the  hosses  nine  quarts  of  corn  meal  apiece  for 
three  days  runnin'  ter  celebrate,  an'  the  only  thing 
thet  saved  'em  was,  thet  he  had  sense  enough  left  not 
ter  wet  it." 

My  husband  assured  him  that  we  should  be  at 
home  soon  —  perhaps  in  a  day  or  two. 

The  Doctor  insisted  that  Cale  and  Delia  should 
come  home  with  him  to  dinner,  in  order  that  Cale 
might  have  one  "  square  meal  "  before  he  left  on  the 
night  train.  They  accepted  promptly.  It  was  an 
opportunity  to  talk  matters  over. 

We  bade  them  goodby  at  the  entrance  to  the  hos 
pital;  then  my  husband  and  I  went  down  and  into 
the  great  city,  the  heart  of  which  had  been  shown  to 
us  because  we  had  seen,  at  last,  into  our  own. 


I   HAVE  been  his  wife  for  nearly  two  years.    I  am 
sitting   by  the  window  in   the  living-room   at 
Lamoral,  while  writing  these  last  words.     My 
baby,  my  little  daughter,  now  four  months  old,  lies 
in  her  bassinet  beside  me. 

I  believe  Gordon's  dearest  wish  was  for  a  son,  but 
I  had  set  my  heart  on  a  daughter,  and  I  really  think 
he  would  have  welcomed  twins,  or  even  triplets,  of  the 
feminine  gender,  if  I  had  expressed  a  preference  for 
them!  A  little  daughter  it  is,  however,  and  her  father 
kneels  beside  her  to  worship  and  adore.  Sometimes 
I  detect  the  traces  of  tears  when  his  face  emerges  from 
her  still  uncertain  embrace. 

Our  little  daughter,  born  to  such  a  heritage  of  love! 
I  look  at  her  often  when  she  is  asleep  and  wonder  what 
her  life  will  be.  So  far  as  her  father  and  I  can  make  it, 
it  shall  be  a  joy;  and  yet  —  and  yet!  To  this  little 
soul,  as  to  every  other  new-born,  life  will  interpret 
itself  in  its  own  terms,  despite  father-love,  and  mother- 
love  and  the  love  of  friends  —  of  whom  she  has  al 
ready  a  host! 

Cale  has  constituted  himself  prime  minister  of  the 
nursery  ever  since  her  advent,  and  advises  me  on  all 
occasions.  She  is  sovereign  in  the  house.  Angelique 
and  Marie  fell  out  on  the  subject  of  which  should 
launder  the  simple  baby  dresses,  and,  in  consequence, 
we  had  an  uncomfortable  household  for  a  week.  Pete 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  425 

and  his  son,  no  longer  "  little  "  Pete,  are  her  slaves. 
And  as  for  the  dogs,  they  guard  the  room  when  she 
takes  her  frequent  naps,  three  lying  outside  the 
threshold,  and  one  within,  by  the  crib,  to  make  known 
to  us  when  she  wakes.  Of  course,  each  dog  has  his 
day  —  otherwise  there  would  be  no  living  in  the  house 
with  them. 

Only  this  morning,  Mere  Guillardeau,  now  over  a 
hundred,  drove  over  to  see  her  and  brought  with  her 
a  tiny  pair  of  dainty  moccasins  that  her  nephew, 
Andre,  sent  down  from  the  Upper  Saguenay.  Even 
the  bassinet,  in  which  she  is  at  this  moment  lying, 
was  woven  by  our  Montagnais  postman's  squaw-wife 
and  sent  to  me  in  anticipation  of  her  coming.  We 
must  try  not  to  spoil  her. 

Our  first  summer  was  spent  in  Crieff  with  Jamie 
and  Mrs.  Macleod. 

Jamie  showed  me  the  great  Gloire  de  Dijon  roses 
growing  on  the  stone  walls  of  his  home,  and  the  ivy 
covering  the  gate  that  gives  passage  from  the  lower 
side  of  the  garden  to  the  meadows  and  the  bright- 
glancing  Earn.  Before  you  step  out  through  it,  it 
frames  the  misty  blue  Grampians  beyond  the  river. 
Jamie  used  to  describe  all  this  to  me  that  winter  in 
Lamoral;  but  the  reality  is  more  beautiful  than  any 
description. 

The  Doctor  was  with  us  for  three  weeks  in  August. 
We  celebrated  Jamie's  birthday  by  repeating  Gordon's 
celebration  of  it  so  long  ago.  We  went  over  the  moors 
and  through  the  bracken  to  the  "  Keltic  ".  We  made 
our  fire  beneath  the  same  tree,  under  which  Gordon 
camped  to  the  little  boy's  delight,  nineteen  years  be 
fore,  and  we  swung  our  gypsy  kettle  and  made  re 
freshing  tea.  We  had  a  perfect  day  together. 


426  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

It  was  on  that  occasion  Jamie  confided  in  me.  He 
told  me  his  decision  to  return  to  England  was  not 
wholly  influenced  by  his  publishers,  but  because  of 
his  interest  in  Bess  Stanley  who,  he  had  heard,  was 
seen  a  good  deal  in  the  company  of  a  distant  cousin  of 
my  husband's  —  another  Gordon  Ewart,  named  from 
his  father  from  whom  my  Gordon  bought  the  manor 
and  seigniory  of  Lamoral. 

He  discerned  that  the  only  wise  thing  for  him  was 
to  be  on  the  spot,  "  to  head  the  other  off  "  as  he 
put  it. 

"  If  I  can  be  only  one  half  day  with  Bess  now  and 
then,  I  can  make  her  forget  every  other  man,"  he 
declared  solemnly. 

I  laughed  inwardly,  but  I  knew  he  spoke  the  truth. 
Jamie  Macleod  is  fascination  itself  when  he  exerts 
himself. 

"  I  am  going  to  win,  you  know,  in  the  end,"  he  said. 
"  Another  Ewart  shan't  cut  me  out  again  —  He 
spoke  mischievously,  audaciously. 

"  Oh,  you  big  fraud!    It 's  well  I  understand  you." 

"  And  I,  you,  Marcia  —  I  '11  cable." 

"  Do,  that  's  a  dear.    I  shall  be  so  anxious." 

Yesterday  I  received  the  cablegram;  Jamie  has 
won. 

I  can't  help  wondering  about  those  other  "  Gordon 
Ewarts  ",  distant  cousins  of  my  husband.  Can  it 
be?- 

No,  no!  I  will  not  even  speculate.  That  past  is 
forever  laid,  thank  God. 

I  write  "  forever  "  -  but  perhaps  that  is  not  pos 
sible,  for  I  have  lived  through  a  strange  experience  that 
makes  me  doubt  at  times.  When  my  nestling  was 


A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness  427 

on  her  way  to  us,  when  a  perfect  love  enfolded  me,  a 
love  that  protected,  guarded,  surrounded  me  with 
everything  that  life  can  yield,  then  it  was  that,  at 
times,  I  felt  again  a  stranger  in  this  world ;  nor  love 
of  husband,  nor  love  of  friends,  nor  my  love  for  them, 
for  my  home,  nor  my  very  passion  of  anticipated  moth 
erhood,  could  banish  that  feeling. 

I  never  told  my  husband.  He  will  read  it  here  for 
the  first  time.  I  accounted  for  it  by  reason  of  my 
condition  in  which  every  nerve  centre  was  alive  for 
two.  It  may  be  my  mother  felt  this  before  me  —  I 
do  not  know.  But  when  my  baby  came,  when  I  could 
touch  the  little  bundle  beside  me,  when  I  gave  her 
the  first  nourishment  from  the  fountain  of  her  life, 
the  feeling  left  me.  I  have  not  experienced  it  since. 

During  this  last  winter  I  have  occupied  my  en 
forced  leisure  in  writing  out  these  life-lines  of  mine. 
I  have  written  them  for  my  daughter.  It  may  be  that 
she,  too,  sheltered  as  she  now  is,  may  sometime  find 
herself  lost  in  the  wilderness  we  call  Life,  may  read 
these  life-lines  and,  hearing  her  mother's  cry,  may  find 
by  means  of  it  the  trail  —  as  her  mother  found  it  be 
fore  her. 

My  husband,  entering  quietly  without  my  hearing 
him,  leaned  over  my  shoulder,  as  I  was  writing  those 
last  words,  and  took  my  pen  from  my  fingers. 

"Not  yet,  Marcia;  you  haven't  gained  your 
strength." 

I  seized  a  pencil,  and  while  I  try  to  finish  now, 
scribbling,  he  is  holding  the  end  of  it,  ready  to  lift  it 
from  the  paper. 

"  Please,  Gordon  —  just  a  few  more  words  —  only 
a  few  about  the  new  farm  project,  and  Delia,  and  the 
Doctor  and  Mrs.  Macleod,"  - 1  hear  him  laugh  under 


428  A  Cry  in  the  Wilderness 

his  breath  when  I  couple  those  two  names;  we  are 
still  hoping  in  that  direction,  — "  and  those  dear 
Duchenes  —  and  you,  of  course  — 

The  pencil  is  being  lifted  —  I  struggle  to  write  — 

"  Oh,  Gordon,  you  tyrant!  " 


Fourth  Large  Printing 


FLAMSTED  QUARRIES 


By  MARY  E.  WALLER 

Author  of  "  The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus,"  etc. 
Illustrated  by  G.  Patrick  Nelson.  Cloth,  $1.50 


It  rings  true.  —  Pittsburg  Index. 

A  beautiful  love  story.  —  Chicago  News. 

A  strong,  sterling  tale  of  New  England  life.  —  Boston 
Herald. 

A  stronger  book  than  "  The  Wood-Carver  of  'Lympus  " 

—  Cleveland  Leader. 

One  of  the  finest  examples  of  fiction  that  the  new 
century  has  seen.  —  Nashville  Tennessean. 

Few  books  we  have  read  in  recent  years  are  so  worthy 
of  unstinted  praise  as  this.  —  New  York  Press. 

A  volume  rich  in  entertainment,  with  many  a  scene  full 
of  courage  and  tenderness,  a  number  of  characters  that 
are  a  pleasure  to  have  known.  —  Bookman,  New  York. 

An  interesting  story  from  beginning  to  end.  There  is 
not  a  moment  when  we  can  honestly  question  the  reality 
of  the  people  who  figure  in  the  tale.  The  balance  of  the 
book  is  unusual.  —  The  Outlook,  New  York. 


LITTLE,  BROWN,  &    CO.,  PUBLISHERS 
34  BEACON  STREET,  BOSTON 


" Head  and  shoulders  above  most  novels." — CHICAGO  INTERIOR 


SANNA  OF  THE 
ISLAND  TOWN 


By  MARY  E.  WALLER 

Author  of"  The  Wood-Carver  of  'Lympus"  etc. 

12mo.     Cloth.     $1.25  net. 


Sane  and  refreshing,  full  of  nature,  fresh  sea  breezes  and  fine 
humanity. —  Chicago  Post. 

Sanna  is  a  wild,  jolly,  madcap  girl,  who  wins  your  heart 
instanter. —  Chicago  Record-Herald. 

Sanna  is  a  genuine  sea  maiden,  full  of  fearless  life  as  well  as 
of  beauty  and  coquettish  witchery. — New  York  Times. 

The  book  strikes  a  fresh  note  and  gives  evidence  of  power  of 
observation  and  literary  charm. — Congregationalist,  Boston. 

The  pages  are  replete  with  rare  pen  pictures  of  the  homely 
incidents  in  the  common  and  ordinary  life  of  an  island  village, 
but  they  are  made  attractive  and  heart-touching  by  the  real 
genius  of  story-telling. — Syracuse  Herald. 

The  character  drawing  is  firm  and  strong  and  the  book  sus 
tains  the  impression  made  by  its  predecessor  that  Miss  Waller 
is  a  novelist  of  very  unusual  quality.  She  has  creative  power 
of  st  wide  reach  and  of  much  intensity. —  Brooklyn  Eagle. 


LITTLE,  BROWN,  &  CO.,  PUBLISHERS 
34  BEACON  STREET,  BOSTON 


Far  outside  the  common  run  of  Jiction.  —  Dial,  Chicago 


THE  WOOD-CARVER 
OF  'LYMPUS 


By  M.  E.  WALLER 

Author  of  "  A  Daughter  of  the  Rich,"  etc. 

With  frontispiece  by  Chase  Emerson.     12mo.    311  pages.    $1.50 

A  strong  tale  of  human  loves  and  hopes  set  in  a  back 
ground  of  the  granite  mountain-tops  of  remote  New  Eng 
land.  —  Brooklyn  Eagle. 

Hugh  Armstrong,  the  hero,  is  one  of  the  pronouncedly  high 
class  character  delineations  of  a  quarter  century.  —  Boston 
Courier. 

It  is  a  book  which  does  one  good  to  read  and  which  is  not 
readily  forgotten ;  for  in  it  are  mingled  inextricably  the  ele 
ments  of  humor  and  pathos  and  also  a  strain  of  generous 
feeling  which  uplifts  and  humanizes.  —  Harry  Thruston  Peck, 
Editor  of  The  Bookman. 

A  few  books  are  published  every  year  that  really  minister 
to  the  tired  hearts  of  this  hurried  age.  They  are  like  little 
pilgrimages  away  from  the  world  across  the  Delectable  Moun 
tains  of  Good.  .  .  This  year  it  is  "The  Wood-Carver  of 
'Lympus."  ...  It  is  all  told  with  a  primitive  sweetness  that 
is  refreshing  in  these  days  when  every  writer  cultivates  the 
clever  style.  — Independent,  New  York. 

The  book  is  as  manly  as  "  Ralph  Connors,"  and  written  with 
a  more  satisfying  art.  —  Amos  R.  Wells,  in  Christian  Endeavor 
World.  

LITTLE,     BROWN,    &     CO.,    PUBLISHERS,   BOSTON 
At  all  Booksellers' 


By  the  author  of'  "The  Wood-Carver  of'Lympus" 


A  YEAR  OUT  OF  LIFE 


By  MARY  E.  WALLER 
12mo.     Cloth.     $1.25  net. 


An  unusual  story  in  its  plan,  and  attractive  in  its  style. 

—  Boston  Transcript. 

A  narrative  of  haunting,  emotional  beauty;  a  story  to  be  read 
without  haste  and  reverently  received.  —  Chicago  Post. 

So  much  finer  than  the  ordinary  fiction  that  one  feels  very 
grateful.  An  exquisite  passage  that  deserves  to  endure  is  the 
"  Insight  into  Life"  passage;  it  is  a  sermon  and  a  poem  all  in 
one.  —  Indianapolis  News. 

It  is  so  real,  so  womanly,  all  of  it,  that  it  would  take  but 
little  persuasion  to  convince  one  that  some  sweet  woman  whom 
we  knew  had  written  of  a  year  of  her  life.  The  fragrance  of  it 
still  clings;  it  is  a  pleasant  memory  to  the  reader,  as  it  must 
have  been  to  the  woman  herself.  —  Chicago  Tribune. 

Unusual  in  more  ways  than  one.  The  plot  and  its  develop 
ment  are  "somehow  different,"  and  the  conclusion  is  quite  out 
of  the  ordinary.  She  has  written  truly  "a  year  out  of  life," 
bright  enough  with  many  pleasant  little  byways,  yet  always 
brushed  by  the  wings  of  that  Fate  which  sometimes  makes  of 
life  such  an  inexplicable  tangle  of  broken  threads. 

—  Louisville  Courier  Journal. 


LITTLE,  BROWN,  &  CO.,  PUBLISHERS 
34  BEACON  STREET,  BOSTON 


A     000  038  424     8 


